Star Wars: Reality
by raptor7435
Summary: its an odd background but ive been working on it for a while. please RR. i need opinions.
1. Preface

_Preface_

_IT IS THE NEAR FUTURE._

_THE GALAXY HAS CHANGED._

_AN EXPERIMENT TO ACHIEVE_

_LIGHT-SPEED TRAVEL HAS INSTEAD_

_FUSED TWO DIMENSIONS, THE ONE_

_WE LIVE IN, AND THE ONE WHERE_

_THE MOVIE "STAR WARS" ACTUALLY_

_EXISTS IN SPACE/TIME. IMMEDIATELY_

_THE EMPIRE INVADED, CONSUMING_

_CIVILIZATION AFTER CIVILIZATION,_

_AND PLANET AFTER PLANET._

_THE HEROES OF THE ORIGINAL_

_REBEL ALLIANCE ARE DEAD,_

_LEAVING NO ONE TO CHALLENGE_

_VADER AND HIS EMPEROR. ALL THAT_

_STANDS IN THE EMPIRE'S WAY_

_NOW IS A BIGGER VERSION OF THE_

_REBEL ALLIANCE IN OUR DIMENSION._

_THEY HAVE RECENTLY MANAGED TO_

_KILL THE EMPEROR, LEAVING VADER_

_TO RUN THE EMPIRE, BUT EVEN HE_

_CANNOTREPLACE HIS MASTER'S SKILLS._

_IN RESPONSE TO THIS_

_THE NEW REBEL ALLIANCE HAS_

_MASSED A FLEET LARGE ENOUGH _

_TO LAUNCH AN ATTACK _

_ON CORPAGIA, THE CENTRAL_

_PLANET OF THE EMPIRE_

_IN THE EARTH DIMENSION ._

_NOW, AS THE ALLIANCE REGROUPS _

_AND PREPARES FOR THEIR_

_FINAL STRIKE, THE MEMORIES _

_OF THE PAST ELEVEN YEARS_

_COME RUSHING BACK. MEMORIES_

_THAT NONE OF THEM WILL EVER_

_FORGET... _


	2. The New Heroes Of The Alliance

3:30 P.M.. _Sovereign _Cruiser.

Bryan Rawling took a seat on a row of the white benches that circled the room, unending. He was early as usual to these briefings, always the first there, or usually the first one there. As he thought about it, he realized that there were a few occasions when he was the second or third person. He hunched over on the bench, stretching out his arms and revitalizing them to get ready for the long sit ahead of him.

As he re-straightened his back and came up again, his eyes casually shifted over at Emilie Rodenski and Admiral Dean Harrison who were sitting in a row of only single sitting chairs. They sat in quiet conversation, going over, again, their battle plan and tactics. Bryan took a moment to, again, revel in his old friend Emilie's beauty before looking above her at the loosely person-ed command bridge on the chamber's second level. After taking a minimal interest in that site, Bryan sat back completely, resting his head all the way back onto the next row of white benches and look at the ceiling, tongue swishing around the inside of his mouth in boredom.

The ceiling was as white as any other part of this room, but with a pattern of black, gray, and white diamond-like shapes criss-crossing the ceiling. After a while though, Bryan's neck started to hurt from looking up, and it also got boring looking at the same repeating pattern. He hunched forward again, quietly rubbing the back of his neck, massaging the muscles.

Now some new people finally walked into the quiet room. They were dressed in orange pilot jumpsuits, like Bryan's. One man and one woman, the woman shorter than the man, slightly. She was a blonde with a thin body and small hands covered by the standard black gloves that came with every jumpsuit. The guy with her–he didn't recognize them at all–was only slightly taller with black hair and a smile on his face. The two looked like they were having a good time together, so Bryan looked away from them, not wanting to disturb them with his rather rude gaze.

Then, another person walked in from the alcove to Bryan's direct left. He was taller, from what Bryan could tell, than the other guy across the room. His hair was cut low to his scalp, something that Bryan had thought looked stupid compared to his last hair style. Also wearing the same jumpsuit–the pilot's tended to be at these meetings a lot earlier than the command staff–the man was holding his flight helmet under one arm as he took the sights of the chamber.

Bryan looked up at him out of the corner of his eye. "Well if it isn't Mr. Ferdan."

Commander Kenny Ferdan turned and looked down at him. He smiled widely. "Hey man." Bryan smiled back and stood up to greet his old friend with a back-clapping hug. "How ya been?"

"Good," Bryan responded. "How 'bout you?"

"Nice." He nodded.

"Good," Bryan repeated. He sighed. "So this is it. The final attack."

"Yeah, I know," Kenny responded. "Can't wait for it to get started. I'm anxious to kick some Imperial ass."

"Yeah, same here. I can't wait 'til this is over. Empire's goin' down today."

"Hell yeah."

Bryan gave a toothy grin. "It's funny. I still have that tape where you said the Empire kicks ass."

Bryan didn't get what he expected with that remark. Kenny only slightly expanded his smile and actually looked down at the floor. "Yeah, I remember that." An awkward pause. Bryan instantly regretting what he said. "And that pirate shirt I had, the one with the Stormtrooper head."

Bryan grinned nervously. "Yeah," he mumbled. He quickly tried to recover. "I bet you can't wait to take on the _Gatekeeper_ again."

Kenny finally looked up after a moment, smirking and nodding. "Yeah, man. It's payback time. Vader's goin' down today."

Bryan kept smiling. "Yes. Sure thing. You and me'll knock 'im outta the sky."

"Mmmhmm," Kenny simply sounded.

Bryan sighed again, casually glancing around the room. "Yeah, I actually didn't wanna do this," he admitted.

Kenny frowned. "What?"

"Well, I mean, yes I _did_ wanna do this, I just didn't want to lead it."

"Oh. Why not?"

"I've lead enough of these damn attacks. It's very stressful, and I just want these guys to give someone else a chance but me all the time. Like Molly Raoin. She'd make a great Field General. Give her some good leadership experience, too."

"Yeah, she'd be pretty good. I saw her at the _Valiance _Tours this year," he chuckled happily. "She beat me in under three minutes in the head-to-head."

Bryan chuckled. "Ouch. That's bad, and that's Molly" He grimaced at the thought. "What did you end up finishing?"

"Eighth overall," he answered.

Bryan raised both his eyebrows in amazement. "Well that's not bad at all. Good job, man," He clapped him on the shoulder. "Your moving up the ranks. You'll be an Admiral in no time."

"Aw jeez, no way," Kenny laughed. "I can barely handle being a commander. I'd have a heart attack if I got promoted any farther."

Bryan grinned. "Yeah, I'm takin' a break from this job after this attack is over. God help me if they wanna promote me."

Kenny chuckled. "To promote me," he went down on one knee as if he was going to pray, and Bryan instantly knew what he was going to say next, causing him to laugh. "'God shield us, to an Admiral? It is a most dreadful thing.'" Kenny laughed.

Bryan chuckled. "'For there is no more feared wildfowl than your Admiral liking, and we ought to run from it.'" They both laughed. "Yes...." Bryan let his voice trail off. Nick Bottom the weaver, Shakespeare's most exaggerated character. "Wow, I can't believe I still remember those lines. That's very weird."

"Yeah, I can't remember any of Oberon's at all," Kenny said. "Except for," he snickered, "my evil laugh."

Bryan beamed. "Yeah, the 'AHAhahahahahahahahahaha.' Remember that too. The audience always thought it was funny. So did we."

Kenny gave two short "ha's." "So why weren't _you_ at the _Valiance _Tours this year?" Kenny asked.

Bryan shrugged. "I don't know. I just didn't feel like going this year. That and the fact that the _Courage_ was trapped in the Assolist for the first two days of the ah...the competition."

Kenny nodded. "Oh."

"I heard it was quite a...an event."

"Aw yeah, it was," Kenny responded. "The head-to-head competition was intense as hell. People were practically frozen in time when Molly and Commander Deravin faced off. They're were like times when people barely even moved 'cause they were so tense from watching the battle."

Bryan craned his head in amusement. "Yeah, that definitely sounds like Molly. She's like me. Doesn't do anything small."

Kenny chuckled.

"Excuse me," a clear voice said from behind the two. They both looked in that direction, and suddenly realized that they were kind of blocking the alcove into the room.

"Oh, sorry–"

"Sorry–"

They both quickly moved out of the way, letting a stout brunette girl through, followed by another woman in a tan starship duty uniform. They continued to talk and gossip as soon as they were past the boys.

Bryan followed them with his eyes, then turned to Kenny. "If you'll excuse me..." he said in a playful voice. He acted like he was about to walk away, then stopped and hissed a laugh. "Naw jus' kiddin.'" they both chuckled. Bryan then gestured to a the benches. "Come on, I think we better get outta the way here."

"Oh, yeah," Kenny agreed, and the two shuffled over to the bench Bryan had been sitting in when Kenny had walked in. Once seated, Bryan stared down at his small watch on his right wrist. "Still got twenty minutes to go." A few moments passed. "So whatcha been up to in the last...six..years," Bryan giggled.

Kenny grinned slightly. "Not too much to tell you the truth. There really hasn't been that much fighting in the last few years, save the battles at Piir Sedar and De'radut, ya know?"

"Haha. You make it sound like a bad thing."

"Well no, man, but–I was just saying there wasn't much going on for me to talk about."

Bryan nodded sarcastically. "Yeah, Kenny, wha-whatever you say, buddy."

"Shut up," Kenny snickered.

"Afternoon General!," someone called softly from the other side of the chamber. Bryan looked up to see that the voice belonged to Lieutenant Paul Darbles, who waved to the Commander before he sat down, his girlfriend, Sergeant Diana Hayes, hanging on his left arm. "Hey, General!" she called, smiling.

"Hey guys!" he answered. "You guys get enough sleep last night I hope?"

They nodded together.

"Yes–"

"Yeah–"

Bryan smiled wryly. "Good." He turned his head to Kenny. "Oh, I'm sure they got _plenty_ of sleep last night," he whispered sarcastically to him. "If that guy could keep a girlfriend for more than a month, he'd probably have sex every night of his life." He snickered at this. "He still probably does, steady girlfriend or no steady girlfriend."

Kenny laughed. "Eww," he remarked. "What is he, like a Fedrellon or something?"

Bryan craned his head to the ground. "Yes, actually, he is," he said through the corner of his mouth.

He looked at Bryan in amazement. "Are you serious? He's Fedrellon?"

Bryan nodded. "Yup. I know he looks human, but he isn't."

"Damn."

"Yeah." A pause. "He's a good pilot though. If not a sleezy one."

It was then that he spotted his best friend of nearly a decade walk into the chamber. A thick net of blonde hair on a round head was all Bryan saw at first, but that's all he needed to see to know who it was. She was tall for a woman,–Bryan knew full well that she was taller than the six foot-tall Darbles– with a slender figure thick arm and leg muscles; the result of training and fitness drills for nearly six whole months that had never worn off.

Commander Maxie Linwood of the Cruiser _Liberty_ was still as beautiful as he remembered her. She walked, shoulders back gracefully, and her green eyes scanned the chamber momentarily, but it wasn't a curious look at all. She had served with Bryan, had bunked in the same room with him and two other people, for five years. And so she knew that he would already be here, even though there was still fifteen-to-twenty minutes before the meeting actually began. In an instant, she heard his voice and spotted him and was on the move.

Bryan sat up and smiled slightly. "Good afternoon Maxie. How ya doin'?"

"I'm good. Slept three hours."

"So you're ready then?"

Maxie scowled sardonically. "Boy, I've been ready to end this war since we were still working at Alberts. You know that."

The man put his hands up in surrender. "Just checkin.'" He gestured to Kenny. "I'm sure you two met at the _Valiance_ Tours, right?"

"Yeah," Kenny answered, smiling up at Maxie standing directly in front of him.

"Hey Kenny Ferdan, " Maxie smiled brightly at him. She raised her hand, and they fived. "What's up?"

"I'm good, Maxie. How 'bout you?"

"I'm good," she responded sweetly. She turned to Bryan. "We were flight 'buddys' at the Tours this year. But you wouldn't know that, would you?" she said to him in a fake snobbish voice.

Throwing his arms up in the air, Bryan rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to keep telling you people? I couldn't come! Remember, the _Courage_ was trapped for two days in the Assolist–those two days being the first two days of the–of the Tours."

"Yeah, yeah," Maxie pressed. Upon seeing the irritated reaction on Bryan's face, she broke into a laugh.

Bryan shook his head. "Your so nice Maxie."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a joke Bryan."

"Oh, yeah," he said doubtfully. His clicked his tongue and gave her a sarcastic thumbs up. "I'm sure."

Maxie smiled understandably. Swallowing, she sat down on the bench in between Kenny and Bryan, then she slid her butt so that her back was to Bryan and she was looking at Kenny. And, with a sigh, she laid back, kicking her feet out and setting them down gently on Kenny's lap, her head landing in Bryan's.

And Bryan just stared blankly at her. "I thought you said you got some sleep?"

"I'm not going to sleep. I already put in three hours doing that."

"My point–my point exactly."

"What?" she said ignorantly.

"Ah, Nuttin'."

Maxie shrugged. "Ok."

A long time passed before anyone spoke. Kenny and Bryan continued to scan the chamber every now and then, and more people were starting to walk in, though Bryan rarely knew a few of them. Maxie rested on Bryan's lap,–like she had said she didn't need–eyes closed, breathing slow and easy.

Then, at one point, she opened her eyes. "You look tired," she commented to Bryan. "How many hours of sleep did _you_ get last night, _sir_?"

"Enough to get me through today," Bryan simply responded. "Don't worry, I'm just a little bored right now."

"You sure?" she asked in concern.

"I'm fine Maxie," he assured. "Thanks though."

Something he said must have reminded her of an occurrence. "Oh, wait, I forgot to ask you something," she sat up, eyes looking towards the ceiling in thought. "Yeah; I forgot to ask you if you saw Jefferies at the Berge Conference last month? I think it was during the...thir..d session he was there. Was it the third?–no, wait...yeah it was the third." She looked him straight in the eyes. "Did you see him?"

Bryan nearly laughed. "Jefferies at a political conference? Dan Jefferies-your kidding right?"

"No, he was there. More to watch it than anything, but he was there."

This time Bryan chuckled. "Jefferies _watching _a political conference?"

"He _was_ there."

"Well I didn't see him, so no."

"Ok," Maxie finished, nodding then laying her head back down on his lap.

"Hey, Bryan?" Kenny said. "_You_ at a political conference?"

Bryan shrugged. "Hey, they're actually kind of interesting sometimes."

Maxie snorted. "Yeah, right. You were prolly off daydreaming half the time. Barely paid attention at the Crny Conference."

"Oh shut up," Bryan attacked. "At least I do it quietly. Let's think, here; I believe it was you who fell asleep during the first session of Crny Conference, and I believe it was _you_ who let out that wonderful snore." He grinned. "That–that one-of-a-kind–I think we call it the Manly-Maxie–snore that everyone in the entire conference chamber heard?"

Bryan's lap began to vibrate as Maxie laughed silently. Anyway, he still attempted to impersonate the famous snore by scrunching up his mouth muscles and sucking his breath hard up his nose. The snore came as more of a snarl sound, but as Bryan remembered the Manly-Maxie snore, his sound was pretty close. Maxie laughed harder, turning her face to the side. She raised a hand and slapped him on his left knee. "Stop it!" she half-screamed through her giggles.

Bryan and Kenny exchanged amused glances while Maxie slapped Bryan on the left knee again. She did it repeatedly three times until Bryan tried to move his knee to get her to stop. "Stop it!" she said again.

"Ok, ok!" He turned and smiled at Kenny. "You wouldn't believe the memories I have of her acting like this. Does it all the time."

"Shut up."

"The drunken nights are the best part. You wouldn't believe the kind of things she does when she's wasted."

"Stop it! Shut up!" Maxie commanded through he laughs.

But Bryan continued. "'Bryan, help me outta the garbage pit. Bryan, I wanna go out in space. No I don't want a helmet. Its gets too hot. Bryan, which way is left on the joystick–?'"

Maxie sat up, laughing furiously. "Stop it you bastard," she said, slapping him on the side of his shoulder multiple times.

"And of course, the classic question–"

"Shut up!"

"–the classic: 'Bryan, are red and blue the same color?'"

Kenny burst out into laughing as Maxie started to literally attack Bryan. She sat up on her knees and shoved him one way on the bench, trying to playfully knock him off over the side. But just before she could, Bryan grabbed her wrists and used them to keep at bay while all the while, Kenny laughed at the amusing wrestling match. "Are red and blue the same color?" he asked.

In between a bunch of flailing arms, Bryan answered. "Yeah, man, I know."

"Shut up!" Maxie repeated again. She went for his head again, but now he had a firm grasp on her wrists, and easily managed to keep them away from his face. He then proceeded to lock her wrists together near her stomach, a grip Maxie tried helplessly to break but couldn't.

Bryan, not securely keeping her at bay, looked amusingly over at Kenny. He sighed sarcastically. "And I remember the days when I used to be able to _not_ do this."

He and Kenny exchanged laughs.

"Let go! Fine!" Maxie said snootily. Bryan followed where she was looking and spotted Hannah Renkins standing at the edge of the far alcove, grinning and laughing at the scene across the room.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no, no," Bryan responded.

"I'm gonna go talk to Hannah. Hannah help!"

"Alright fine," Bryan said, releasing her wrists. She got in one tiny slap onto Bryan's shoulder before running away from him to Hannah, sticking her tongue out at him. So he flicked her off in good fun. Putting his finger down, he side-glanced at Kenny. "Isn't she great?"

"Oh, yeah," Kenny commented. "'Are red and blue the same color?'"

Bryan grinned. "Yeah. She was 'comparing' her blood with that of Trisalkans one night when she was drunk."

"Oh," Kenny said, chuckling.

By now, now ten minutes until the briefing was to start, the chamber was flooding with incoming pilots and command personnel. Many of the pilots–Twins Kevin and Evan Silliger, Harry Carr, Pamela Donahue, Wesley Fuller, Jason Gerreret, Bryan's rival Calvin Deravin newcomers Zeverian Dez'vil Saadra, Bernard Kerry, Trisalkan Hyi Lop'ds'r, and Pyfrellin Keswist Pantessa, his old friends Commander Molly Raoin, Isaac Berkley, his high school friend Jordan Zilger's little brother Chris, two members of his family, his cousin, Captain Kate Rawling(he couldn't remember her husband's last name), captain of the cruiser _Dove_, and Kate's sister's son, Lieutenant Daniel Madden–he knew. He knew a majority of the others too. It was the command personnel his memory didn't know too well. He knew Emilie Rodenski, of course, and Dean Harrison. But he only knew two of the remaining eight Admirals: Admiral Sigmund Colvon, and High Admiral Poff, a Mon Calamari that had been brought over during the Crossing. He'd only just heard of only one of the Generals, General Slimious Battrred. The Captains he knew fairly well though. Derlian Captain's Vorck Ulder, Walder Tyssa, Bryan's former Captain, human Vanessa Hiller. Human Captain's Gary Polister, Thomas Dewy, Jonathon Ross-Thomas, Copper's Feerderop Marcksly and Hel'scd Jewsh, and many, many others.

As Bryan finished his long sweep of all the people in the chamber, he spotted another old friend of his walk into the far left alcove. It was another girl–surprise, surprise–in a gray jumpsuit. She had her stringy black hair pulled back into a bun behind her head, letting her face glow like it had always done in the past–at least to Bryan's eyes. She looked very tall from this distance, especially since she was standing upright like an angel would. Her face was covered in tiny brown freckles that aided it's glowing. Her pretty eyes scanned the room quickly. Upon spotting someone she knew, Colonel Max Forrester, she hurried over to him and gave him a hug, the both of them exchanging joyous words.

Not looking at Kenny, Bryan excused himself and started over for the newcomer woman, smiling the entire way over. She was nodding her head at Max when he spoke. "Well hello my dear, how are you?"

Clara Chestor turned and, upon looking up at his face, smiled brightly at him. "Hey," she said happily. She stepped closer to him and hugged him loosely. "How are you?"

"I'm great," Bryan responded, his energy now back at its peak. "It's so good to see you. So I thought the _Harvester_ wasn't taking part in this attack?"

"It wasn't before," she said, hiccuping once. "But the mission we were doing got scrubbed. We couldn't find the fleet we were hunting, so we voted to come here, and here we are."

"Oh, really? What do you–what do you think happened to the–to the fleet?"

"Oh, we don't know. Pat won't tell us anything, so we just assume"–she lowered her voice–"that Commander Deravin's flatulence scared them away."

Bryan grinned widely. "Oh, yeah, that guy....he can create some nasty ones sometimes."

"Yeah, he gave a big one this one time during a briefing, and Pat had to stop it so that everyone could go outside and get some air."

Bryan breathed. "Yikes." he patted her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry for ya."

"Its alright. We learn to deal with it."

"Good." A momentary pause. "Well, I'll let you go here, say hi to some people, and I'll see you later."

"Ok, bye–"

"–see ya."

Bryan said his goodbye and started back over for Kenny again. And found that he had found new company. Sitting next to him was a man that Bryan had met during his senior year of high school. And he was still wearing his glasses.

"Hey Justin," Bryan half-called to him. The thin hair that he had been staring at a moment look up to reveal a grinning face–wearing glasses–with big eyes and white teeth.

Justin Berislo held out his hand. "What's up Bryan?" They clapped wrists. His blue and tan tactician's uniform's three medals glimmered in Bryan's eyes as they reflected off the lighting. He gestured to someplace behind Bryan. "Who was that you were talkin' to?"

Bryan jutted his thumb towards where Clara had been standing, then turned to make sure she was still where he was pointing. She was. "Who, Clara? Yeah, that's Clara. Former high school classmate and old friend."

"Oh. She's pretty, man. Are you guys good friends?"

Bryan smiled wryly, immediately understanding where he was going with this. "Yes, and nothing more. Her husband died nearly five years ago."

Justin smiled and snickered. "That's alright man, I was just asking."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just kiddin.' Besides, Justin, if you remember correctly, I already tried to ask her out back when–well actually I never _tried_ to but I wanted to. Could never bring myself around to doing it." He sat down on Kenny's left side.

"Oh. That's _that_ Clara?"

Bryan inhaled. "Yyup."

"Sweet. I can see why you like her."

"Si." Bryan sighed. "So anything new and exciting happen over here while I was gone?"

"Nah not really," Kenny responded.

"Umm hello?" Justin asked cynically, pointing both fingers at himself.

Bryan paused for a while. "So like I said, anything new and exciting happen over here?" he asked again, chuckling when Justin flicked him off.

"How much time we have left?" Justin asked.

Bryan checked his watch. "About seven minutes."

"Good," he said, bobbing his shoulders. "I'm anxious to start."

"Yeah I know. We all are." He paused. "By the way, what _are_ wesupposed to be anxious about? What are we doing exactly?"

Justin chuckled. "Man I knew you were gonna ask me about that. I shouldn't have come over here."

"That's nice. So what are we doing?"

"Dude, I can't tell you. It's a top secret kind of thing."

"But _is_ it really top secret?" Bryan asked.

"I _can't tell you_. Man, just wait, you'll find out in like five minutes anyway."

"Yeah," Bryan exchanged glances with Kenny. "After about an hour of speeches." They both snickered.

"Just wait; I'm not telling you."

"Alright, fine. I'm just anxious, that's all."

"It's alright, I understand. I'm exited though. It's a good plan."

"Then stop bragging about it and tell us."

"No!"

"Just relax Bryan," Kenny said. "We'll know soon enough."

"Yeah," Justin agreed. "Calm down."

"Alright, alright, I'm just kiddin. Jeez...'"

Justin snickered.


	3. The Mirror Of Endor

Out of the corner of his eyes, Bryan saw two familiar figures walk into his view, one of them actually running very fast in his direction. He knew who she was, and he knew her brother walking slowly behind her. Bryan put up an index finger. "Hang on guys." He turned to the runner. Just in time for her "blur" to crash straight into him, a hug so fierce that he had to fall back onto his right arm on one of the benches to keep from falling over. Bryan hugged her back as hard as he could, smiling blandly and giggling slightly. "Hello Jori."

She didn't respond.

"How are you today?"

"Good," she said, her Russian accent clear.

"Excited?" he asked as she still clung to him. "Well obviously you are, but I mean about the attack?"

"Mmhmm," she responded quietly, her voice dampened by his shoulder.

Bryan held her a moment longer, then pulled away from her. In response, Jori leaned up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on his left cheek. "How you today?" she asked with her thick Russian accent.

"I'm very good thank you."

Jori beamed. "Great. Ready for attack?"

"From who, the Empire or you again?"

Her pretty brown eyes looked to the floor and she blushed.

"What?"

"Nothing," she responded.

"Oh, don't tell me that. You know I won't believe it." Bryan looked up for a second, and saw Justin give him a thumbs ups. In response, Bryan raised his finger to a "wait a moment" position.

Jori mumbled something to the floor.

Smiling to himself, Bryan slowly took a hold of her chin and raised it so that he looked directly into her eyes. "Hmm?"

Jori mumbled again.

"What?"

"I'm afraid," she said, barely any louder.

Bryan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Your afraid? What? No you're not. You? Nah?" He quickly glanced up at her brother Hans. "She's kidding right?"

Hans snickered. "No. She's had nightmares 'bout today for two weeks."

Bryan was once again taken aback by surprise. "Really? What are the–what are the–what are the nightmares about?" he asked Jori.

She pointed up at his face. "You."

"Oh." He paused in an awkward silence. "Lemme guess. I'm dying in it right?"

Jori nodded shyly, looking down again.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" he said, exchanging caring glances with Hans and then both Kenny and Justin. "What's it about? You don't have to–to answer if you don't want to, but I'd thought..." he craned his head in slight embarrassment. "Yeah," he finished.

Jori's lips curled into a cute smile. Then it went back to being straight, and she swallowed. Bryan waited patiently.

"You fighting Darth Vader in middle of...of bal-balance beam. You and him right in the–in the middle." She was making gestures towards the center of the chamber, hands moving up and down almost uncontrollably. And Bryan noticed she was shaking too.

"Yes..."

"And on either side of–of da balance beam are–you...you and—Vader winning...killing you...yes."

Bryan smiled, amused. "Yippee for me."

Jori blushed again a kind-of laughed, but it wasn't noticeable because her head was still down. Swallowing again, she continued. "And on either side of balance beam are...friends of–of both you and Vader."

"Like Maxie, Clara–for me I mean–and ah, and Kenny and Justin and–and _you_ and Hans? Those people?"

Jori nodded. "Yes."

"And lemme guess, on the Imperial side is...um, Admiral Joffandor, Warlord Garrett, Governor Lorgan, Grand Moff Terret, Ali of course, and the Emperor even though he's dead. Right?"

Jori nodded. "And more."

"Got it." He breathed. "Go ahead."

"And you an' Vader continue to fight in–in the middle of tha balance beam. And sometimes you are winning, and sometimes Vader is winning. But it seems that no matter what–either way tha balance beam is never–never in balance. Always aut of balance." She finally looked up. "An' no one ever wins. Like both you 'nd Vader never seem to fully beat the other." She finally looked up at him, eyes much brighter than before. "Which is good thing fur yu."

Bryan broke into a smile. "I certainly hope so." He and Jori laughed slightly. Jori resumed looking at the floor.

Bryan lowered his head so that he at least could see the tops of her eyes. "Is that it?"

She nodded.

The man rose back up to his full height and breathed, looking at Hans. "Interesting dream." He patted Jori on her ponytail sympathetically. "Don't worry my dear. I'm not lettin' Vader beat me anytime soon. Especially not now. I promise you that."

Jori looked up and smiled ever so slightly, still looking very unconvinced. That dream must have had more influence on her than he thought. "You beat him," she said quietly. "Yes, yu kick his ass."

Bryan smiled wider. "Don't worry, I will. For you I will."

She looked up, smiling just as wide as him. Then she proceed to throw her arms around him again and pull him in for another hug. He grunted a laugh and did the same, squeezing her as hard as she was squeezing him, like they good-friends-who-were-also-classmates. And it was a while–after Bryan's numerous attempts to separate–that she finally condoned him to let go.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Bryan finally gestured, realizing that Hans and Jori had never met his friends, to Justin and Kenny behind them. "Have you guys ever met?"

Hans looked over at them. He pointed to Kenny. "Saw him at _Valiance_ Tours." To Justin. "Don't know you."

"And I don't know you," Justin responded. He stood up and extended his hand. "Justin."

The Russian man shook it. "Hans Fresdevor. This is my sister Jori. We're pilots on the _Justice_."

"Nice." He shook Jori's hand. "The _Justice_, isn't that the ship that had the most winners at the Tours this year? I heard you guys kicked ass."

Hans struggled for words and ended up just shrugging his shoulders. "I don know," he chuckled. "If we did, we didn' know. Dey didn–they didn' tell us...anyding." "Oh. Well I heard you guys won like...fifteen competitions, so congratulations."

Hans nodded. "Thank you."

Bryan gestured to Kenny. "And this is Commander Kenny Ferdan, Commander of the _Bravery_." Kenny stood up and shook both Hans's and Jori's hand. "Nice to meet you guys."

Bryan gazed over at Hans. "So how 'bout you now? You ready for this thing?"

Hans. "Yes, yes, yes. Me have been ready for...for...for very long time. So as she, though it doesn' show."

"Oh, I can guess. I know her well enough." He smiled, jokingly, at Jori, who rolled her eyes, which only made his grin widen.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's now four-oh-two. Please take your seats, we'd like to begin as soon as we could can because I know a majority of you are anxious to get out there, so please take your seats." Alliance President Taigor Gillia's voice never sounded deeper. His species, the Caldorans, were known for their operas and singers. Most major bands these days had at least one of these pitch-correct creatures in their band.

Bryan looked over to where Gillia stood, in front of numerous Alliance Admirals and officials, some were even from the Alliance Congress, men and woman who rarely showed their faces in public, though Bryan assumed that a briefing chamber on a Calamari Cruiser wasn't exactly _public_. Who cared though. They never really showed their faces outside of the Congress meeting chamber.

Bryan, Hans, Jori, and Kenny all took seats on the bench in front of them. Justin remained standing. He pointed towards another end of the room, the place with all the Admirals and other command personnel. "Alright then. Time for me to go join the nose-pickers again. Nice meeting you, see you guys later."

The four all said there goodbyes simultaneously, and Justin started for the other side of the room. It didn't take long for everyone to sit down, and the lights soon dimmed after. Just before they did, though, Bryan spotted another one of his friends, former Cleveland Playhouse camper Maya Ranadan, now Lieutenant-Colonel of Alliance Intelligence, sitting near to where Justin was going. They had time to simply smile and exchange waves before the lights dimmed.

President Gillia, tall and tan-skinned, stepped forward to the center holoprojector.

Bryan sighed. "Here comes the speeches," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the chance we've been waiting for, for eleven years, has finally come. Corpagia is vulnerable." A strong murmur escalated in the room.

"Whoa," Kenny stated.

Bryan let his head fall in disappointment. "Oh no. You've got to be kidding me." He looked up at Gillia but kept his voice down. "We're attacking Corpagia?"

"The Imperial government," Gillia continued, "Is in severe, catastrophic breakdown. Radicals have started to rise to power within the ranks of the Empire. Emperor Palpatine's death did more than we could have ever hoped for. Warlord Garrett harshly diminished the Imperial fleet, and our hit-and-run campaign's have been more successful than even our best tacticians could have guessed. My colleagues in the Congress and the military have both concurred–we now have a sufficient enough advantage over the Empire. It is time to strike." The Caldoran walked up to the holopojector and activated it with the push of a small button. With a hum, the machine came to life, projecting an image of the Corpagia system of planets; seven distinct worlds that housed the entire Imperial government. The main center of this hub was Corpagia itself. "Now Corpagia's defenses are mounted around a lock-and-key planetary defense net. Every planet in the system has its own fleet defense and gravity well 'lock.' The 'key' will be to destroy each gravity well projector as we go, as well as any Interdictor Cruisers that may get in the way. Once all the secondary planets and New Coruscant have been bypassed, our fleet will drop out of hyperspace into the Corpagia system and begin the assault." She stepped aside and nodded to Bryan across the room. "General Rawling will be leading the fighter attack." A short round of applause and "whoos" went through the room. Bryan just nodded and smiled at Gillia. He hadn't wanted to lead this fiasco-in-the-making. Gillia turned behind her and nodded at Emilie. "Admiral Rodenski will be commanding the fleet elements. She is the top ranking officer in this operation." Another round of applause. "General Mitza will be leading the ground forces. " A third round of applause. Gillia stepped back and gestured to Emilie. "Admiral."

Emilie rose from her seat and approached the projector. "The strategy here is to attack all in one front."

Bryan looked down and smiled. _Always down to business with Admiral Rodenski_.

"If everything goes as planned, we will only need to stop and fight at three planets, planet number six, Ikolor, number five, Deetoo, and number three, Poridin. And then New Coruscant, and then Corpagia. I think that once the Empire see's that enormous fleet outside, they'll run back to Corpagia. If all goes well, we won't even have to fight at Ikolor, Deetoo, and Poridin." She pressed another button, and the image changed to one of just Corpagia. "So we're not going to worry about that now." She backed up from the projector and looked all around the room. "The hard part will be when we get to Corpagia. Because first we have to bring down the planetary shield, and then clear a safe path for our invasion force." The image on the projector zoomed in on a portion of space to the left of Corpagia. The next few seconds of the projector was devoted to the Alliance fleet slowly breaking through the Imperial lines until it finally reached the planet. "Once we've cleared a path to the shield, bombers from Hornet Squadron will blow a hole in it. And through that hole, we'll land our assault force." On the projector, black-and-yellow striped Y-Wings bombed the shield around Corpagia, and a hole magically opened, or so it seemed. Immediately, model images of Alliance assault craft poured through the hole and disappeared once they had cleared the shield. "Once deployed, the assault force will attack and destroy the planetary shield's generators, thus bringing the shield offline and opening Corpagia to _full-scale_ assault." The shield covering Corpagia on the projector went down. "If and when that is accomplished, our cruisers were create a perimeter blockade, preventing as many ships as we can from escaping. That is the most important objective at that time." Emilie smiled at the man sitting next where she had sat and gestured to him. "General Mitza will be the ground commander in charge of all assault forces. He will explain the ground attack." She stepped back beside President Gillia. "General."

Mitza, a burly, rather unshaven, brown-haired Italian, stood up, coughed once, and marched over to the projector, a little off balance by his weight. The zit on chin jutted out at everyone in the room probably, by its size and bright red hue. "Thank you Admiral." He coughed loud, making half the people in the room jump. "My men have been instructed to do just one thing," he said, Italian accent strong. "Destroy the shield generators. We have over 3,000 assault craft, and 20,000 assault troops, along with five-hundred air support craft. Our strategy will involve this: take the field to the first generator, on the north continent, by using a Grishom Attack Strategy: pounding the Imperial defense forces into submission. The second generator, on a snow-capped mountain on the fifth continent, will be destroyed by using a Bently maneuver coupled with a Hinesmen Streak Attack Pattern. A knock out blow in probably less than twenty minutes," Mitza cackled. A loud murmur drifted throughout the chamber. Most of the people had barely understood anything the Italian had just said. Bryan, Justin, and Kenny all exchanged "what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about?" looks.

Neither did Emilie apparently. "General, could you please explain...er...elaborate on the maneuver's you just talked about. I don't think everyone understands exactly what they are...er...what they do."

Mitza looked at her like she was crazy. "They don't know the Hinesman and Bently maneuvers?" Mitza stared in chagrin at the pilots and personnel assembled in the room around him. "Well they should. What kind of good soldier doesn't?"

"Excuse me, General," President Gillia intervened. "But most of these people are pilots, not troopers. The Bently and Hinesman are army maneuvers, not flight maneuvers."

Mitza scowled. "Then why did you ask me up here!" he scoffed. He stomped, furiously, back to his bench. "I look like a fool up there!" Another murmur made its way around the room.

Bryan leaned closer to Kenny. "Did you have an idea what he was talking about?"

Kenny shook his head. "Naw."

Bryan _hmmmph_-ed, then leaned back to Hans and Jori. "How 'bout you two?" As Jori said "no", Bryan asked Hans, "Didn't you take Tactics at the academy on–on Brynna?" Hans nodded solemnly. "Yes. But no understannd him."

"Yeah, like Kenny said, who did?" Bryan said as he turned to face forward again. On the floor, Emilie had stood up again, not looking at Mitza at all. The fat General was furiously speaking to his comrade, Commander Girlaa Fashfio, the cat-like Oredarian.

The pretty Emilie strode up to the holoprojector, and turned it off. For a moment, the room was nearly pitch black, until the lighting kicked in and nearly blinded everyone in the room due to its brightness. "Are there any questions?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Bryan spotted Commander Calvin Deravin's hand shoot into the air and knew already that he wasn't going to like what Calvin said. "Admiral, as I'm sure _you_ know, things don't always go as planned, so what if–?"

When he said the first part of that sentence, Emilie reacted as Bryan had expected her too, with hesitation. She wanted to be angry, but was obviously still convinced that she was at fault for what had happened at the Battle of Deil Nine. But it hadn't been her fault. But Calvin was just being an asshole. Nevertheless, he had to be dealt with. "What did you say Calvin? Take that back and apologize to Admiral Rodenski."

Calvin lowered his eyebrows in contempt. "Excuse me sir, but I was talking," he said rudely.

"You don't talk to your commanding officer that way, Commander Deravin, now take it back."

"What did I say wrong to her–?"

"You know what I'm talking about–that sentence about 'as I'm sure you know'? Take it back because I know your talking about Deil Nine when you said it. Now take it back. I order you to take it back."

Calvin surrendered. "Fine. I'm sorry Admiral Rodenski," he said to Emilie. With a quick, disdainful glance at Bryan, he continued. "What if we have more trouble at the secondary planets, like for instance: what if they bring their fleet to say, Poridon, instead of waiting for us to show up to Corpagia? How can we expect the plan to go picture perfect?"

"We can't," Emilie said immediately.

An very awkward silence. Emilie and Calvin stared at each for a few moments.

"That's it?" Calvin after another moment. "That's your answer?"

"Yeah," Emilie responded. "You have a 'perfect' plan Commander Deravin?"

"No, ma'am," he responded. "I just wanted to know."

Emilie acknowledged by nodded. "Any other questions?"

Bryan couldn't think of any questions anyone would want to ask. The plan was pretty clear. And indeed there weren't anymore.

"Good," Emilie continued. "Now if any of you possibly have any questions about the ground assault, ask me personally after this is over. General Mitza has a lot or work to do."

Mitza snorted in his seat, disgusted.

Emilie ignored it, trying to keep the sweet smile on her face. "One last thing." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a datapad. "Would the following officers please stand up." her eyes went down the datapad. "Major Richards, Major Brown, Major Sal'cara, Major Poligard, Major Ihn, Major Berislo, Major Dexters, Major Kerlos, Major Be'la'poar, Major Nerris'sthoff, and Major Norring"

Justin shot up into the air on his name, well more energetic than half of the other men and women called, causing a few girls to giggle. Bryan rolled his eyes and shook his head. He leaned towards Kenny. "You hear those giggles?"

"Yeah, I heard a few," Kenny responded.

"And he claims he doesn't try."

Kenny grinned. "Haha."

Larry Norring stood modestly, looking very tired. Not only was he the tactician aboard the _Freedom_, he also was directing there at this precise moment in time–the existentialism classic _Waiting for Gidot–_one hell-of-a play to put on. Good man though. Another old friend of Bryan's, not to mention his mentor in the field of acting and theater.

Back on the floor, Emilie had already begun her next speech. "–your tacticians. They will be coordinating this entire operation. You get all your orders from them–commanders report all their ideas and seek approval from one of these men. You will all be assigned a coordinator. I give the orders, the tacticians dole out the orders, the pilots carry out the orders. The system is that simple." She paused and nodded for the Major's to sit down. "The attack begins in two hours. No drinking, no smoking, nothing to impair your judgement. Have fun and I'll see you in two hours." With a nod, she dismissed them. Conversation struck up like a lightning fire as the pilots rose to their feet and started to vacate the chamber.

Instead of talking, Bryan looked down at the time on his watch. He wanted to see how long this had been. "Ten minutes," he said in surprise. "That's a new record."

"Yeah," Kenny commented. "I kinda miss the multi-hour speeches though, don't you?"

Bryan chuckled. "'Today is a glorious day for the Alliance. For we shall embark on a fantastic journey to victory, a...majestic, courageous, and gallant venture to freedom'–yeah I do like them I guess–"

"I heard that, you jerk," a voice said sharply behind him, making the man jump. He turned to find Emilie Rodenski staring at him, arms crossed above her breasts. "I know that was a impers-imperso–argh—impersonation of–"

"Havin' trouble talkin' there Emilie?"

"Shut up," she said as she giggled. "ImpersoNATION of me!"

"No, you see, that was Gillia. Here's you." He cleared his throat.

And Emilie tried to stop him. "Hey–hey, don't you even–"

"'The a-ttack will be co-mmencing in un-der an hour. Ev'ry flight and ev'ry pilot must be ready at all times. And yes, I am dulling you, I know,'" Bryan smiled over at Emilie. She had scrunched up her face in a snobby looked, like a child who didn't get what she wanted. Bryan eyes transformed from mockery to sympathy. "I'm just kidding, Emilie. Good job up there."

She rolled her eyes at him, then stretched out a small hand. "Come here," she said.

Bryan hesitated. "Um, well, I'd love to, but, um, for fear of my life, I–I—I dare not."

"Get over here."

Bryan still hesitated.

"I order you, Commander, get over here, now."

He and Kenny exchanged glances. "Oh boy," he whispered. "Coming ma'am. See ya later," he said to Kenny. "Come to the Lounge later."

"Alright. See ya."

Bryan sighed passively. "Bye." Pausing for only a moment, he gingerly started for Emilie. He knew she wasn't really going to hurt him in any way. That was assault, but–and this meant no offense to her–he didn't want to stay here much longer. He wanted to go home, spend some time with his friends; anything to keep him distracted until the time came for him to don the cockpit of his X-Wing again. "Yes?" he said when had reached her.

Exasperated, Emilie stared up into his eyes. "Listen, your sweet. Honestly, you are, and I want to thank you for standing for me against Commander Deravin, but I don't need your help anymore."

Bryan paused to let her say more, but it became apparent that she was done. "I know," he said. "But it's an officer's job to make sure his superiors are respected. It _is_ in the Oath after all. And the Oath is like the United States Constitution: people like to break the rules a lot, or at least try anyways."

Emilie smiled warmly. "Nice analogy there," she observed.

Bryan shrugged. "I try."

"Well, just understand. I don't need your help now. I appreciate it though. Thanks again."

Bryan bowed his head to her. "Anytime. I hope you don't think I was trying to undermine your authority? 'Cause if you are, then...sorry."

"Oh, no," Emilie said cheerfully. "Not at all. I don't think you were trying...even though you kinda did."

Bryan scratched the back of his neck. "So that basically means 'yes, I was?'"

She giggled again. "No–I mean, you didn't mean to, you were just being nice."

The Commander nodded. "Yes, yes I was. But I will have to talk to you later because I want my enjoy my next two hours and get as distracted as I possibly can."

Emilie grinned. "Alright. See ya in two, and thanks again."

"Not a problem. Talk to ya later." They parted ways, Bryan heading down the alcove he had entered from fifty minutes earlier. He already knew where he was heading: his quarters first, then to the Starlight Lounge, the local tavern-like establishment where pilots spent most of their downtime.

"So what was that all about?" Justin's voice said from behind. "Looked to me like you tryin' to make a move."

Bryan stopped and turned, irked, as Justin continued. "Not a bad choice either, man."

The other man stared blankly. "She was just thanking me, that's all. For dealing with Deravin's out-of-place remarks."

"Oh, that ass? He has like five suspensions on his record. He's a fucking dick."

"Yeah, he is." A momentary pause. "Good rival though. Gives me a good challenge every time."

"Oh, yeah. I'm not saying he's a bad pilot. He's just the biggest dick I've probably ever seen."

Bryan shrugged. "I don't care. So long as he didn't pull that shit in front of Emilie again."

Justin chuckled. "Or else Bryan the noble with cuss him out."

He craned his head in consideration. "I just might. It depends."

"Yeah, I know. I woulda kicked his ass by now if I didn't get in trouble for it."

"Hmm."

"Hey, you goin' down the Lounge now?"

"Naw, not yet. Goin' back to my room first. I'm a little tired. Need some rest before I get back in that X-Wing."

"Alright, that's cool. I'm gonna head down to the Lounge now though. See ya later."

"Alright. Have fun, don't get drunk. See you there later."

Justin grinned sarcastically. "Me? Drunk? I don't know what your talking about."

Bryan just laughed and headed for the turbolift ahead of him. "We'll just have to see. Bye."

"Bye, man." He disappeared behind a corridor wall, heading in the direction of the Lounge.


	4. A Quick Glance

4:25 PM _Courage _Heavy Cruiser

Bryan slowly dragged himself into his room, barely even feeling his legs and feet moving him. Exhaustion had set in long before he'd even got back aboard the _Courage_. It was eating away at his strength, like being slowly digested by an unknown monster. His boots seemed as heavy as anvils on his weary legs. He could feel the sweat starting to form on his forehead and upper body. The pilot jumpsuit he still had one was supposed to be used for flying, a mini-life support system, and was not to be kept on for too long outside of the cockpit of an X-Wing, for a very good reason. It got hot in the things after about an hour. Bryan wished they had told him and the others that the attack was still two hours away, so none of them didn't have to wear their flight suits for the last hour and fifteen minutes.

He flipped on his door chime. Finally in the privacy of his own room, he immediately tugged at the zipper on his flight suit, un-zippering it all the way down to his naval. The next thing he knew, he was slumped in his favorite, and most comfortable, armchair. The cool feeling of air blowing on he chest and neck was almost intoxicating. Sitting back, Bryan closed his eyes and sighed, breathing somewhat heavily, but nothing serious. He hadn't felt this good since...since he'd last kissed his lovely Rosy...no, nothing could equal that good feeling...since...oh, who cared for comparisons. It just felt good.

It felt like forever until Bryan finally rose from that chair. He wanted to sit there for the full two hours if he could, but he knew he'd hate himself if he did. A, he still had a few things to do before relaxing; B, he still had to go and see his friends and the Lounge; C, if he didn't take the suit off and take a shower before he got back to the X-Wing, he was gonna gag himself to death in the cramped, _sealed_ cockpit. So he got up, took off the rest of the flight suit, and dumped it into a disposal chute. He then showered and twenty minutes later sat down, fully refreshed, at his computer terminal.

The next minute he was looking at his messages. One from Maxie asking him to come to Open Mike Night on the _Liberty_ yesterday–he really needed to check his messages more often, one from Emilie telling him about his promotion to Field General which he hadn't deleted yet, one from his old co-worker and friend Rick Bonardo reminding him that Bryan owed him money, and one from Clara saying "hi," and telling him she was now here and was participating in the attack.

He ended up deleting them all because they were _all_ old, and made a note to get back to Rick.


	5. Downtime In The Lounge

4:45 P.M. _Sovereign _Cruiser

"Here you go, sir. Enjoy," said the Lounge waitress as she handed Bryan his favorite drink, a Fedrellon Glazer.

Bryan smiled. "Thank you."

"I think it is," Maxie was saying seriously to Hannah Renkins. "Money doesn't grow on trees."

Bryan rolled his eyes. "Could we drop this please? There _are_ some people here trying to have fun."

Maxie glowered at him. "Excuse me, but if you don't want to listen to us, then stop."

Bryan back off in surprise at her fierceness. "All right, all right. Not tryin' to be mean." He picked up his drink and took a tiny sip. The sweet taste was still as exhilarating as the first time he had tried it. And God knew how many of these he had had in the last eleven years.

As he expected, Maxie's glower broke into a playful smile. "I'm just kidding."

He answered her with a smile of her own and shaking his head. Then, for the time being, he swung his gaze to the large observation window. Outside it was the planet Orlader Six, a blue and green jewel that resembled Earth in a shocking way. Even the continents look similar. Bryan saw the peninsula that practically matched Florida, and the odd shape of Australia floating in one of the planet's oceans. He never really got over the resemblance. It amazed him every time he came to the beautiful world.

For a moment Bryan though he heard voices in his head, voices calling his name. But then he heard a full sentence: "I think we lost him." That had sounded like Justin. Followed by another voice that sounded a lot like Maxie's half-shouting "Bryan!" Bryan started, his head snapping around in response. His eyes did a sweep around the table–Justin, Hannah, Maxie, Kevin and Evan Silliger, Clara, and Isaac Brauer–and he soon realized that it was Maxie who'd been calling name just a few moments ago, judging by the weird look she was giving him. "Where do you go when you zone out like that?"

Bryan shrugged. "No where really. It just seems like I do. You'd be surprised how easy it is for me to get lost in thought."

Maxie exchanged weird looks with the rest. "Riiight," she said.

"Oh shut up."

"Hey, I'm just wonderin,' all right? It looks weird."

He shrugged again. "Oh well, so it looks weird."

"Yeah," the grinning Kevin Silliger responded, "But some people don't like weird. That's all we're sayin,' right bro?"

"Yes, sir," Evan answered, looking sympathetically at Bryan. "Maxie?"

"Oh hell yeah. I know _I_ don't."

Bryan made a face at her. "Oh will you be quiet. You don't like anything that doesn't....involve you, and as for what–"

"–Hey–!"

"–you guys said; you mean woman don't like weird, didn't you, as insinuating about my personal life?"

Kevin and Evan backed their chairs away from the table. "– Wait now–..–hold on here, man–...I said nothin' about your personal life–...–calm down..."

Isaac took a sip of his drink and laughed. "This is getting good."

Hannah nodded at him and continued to giggle.

"Damn Bryan," Justin commented. "Cuss 'em out why don't you?"

Bryan beamed and chuckled lightly. He raised his glass and took down a large gulp this time.

"You get offended by everything, don't you? God..." Maxie asked sarcastically.

He shrugged again in response.

"'Gosh!'" Justin shouted, impersonating Napoleon Dynamite.

"'Gosh!" Maxie repeated, in a voice much worse than Justin's.

"'Frickin' idiot!'" The both finished, chuckling afterward.

"I saw that again the other day," Justin said, really to nobody. "I love that movie..." He gulped down half his glass, smacking his lips when he was finished.

"But yeah, your personal life would be better if you paid more attention to your dates then what's out that window, all that–you know–....space," Kevin criticized.

"Okay..." Bryan muttered. "If I ever get a date than I will. Don't worry, I only do that around my friends, although that appears that it's a bad idea. But hey, I can't really help it sometimes."

Justin snickered. "'No, can't stop...looking at....spppace. It's...pulling me in...'"

"Quiet, boy." Bryan snapped at him, raising his glass again

"You _could_ get a girl to like youBryan, if you actually tried," Clara added. "I mean, do you _still_ sleep with that gun under your pillow? That's what turned me off."

Bryan's eyes bulged, and he slammed the glass down to the table. His chest heaved with laughter, and his lips tightened shut, desperately trying not to spit out the liquid in his mouth. All at once, the entire group broke out into furious laughter.

Justin sat back in his chair and was looking at the ceiling, mouth wide open, laughing hysterically, hands holding his stomach. Isaac was in the opposite position–hunched over in his chair, face hidden behind his scalp, fist pounding on the tabletop, shaking it with every slam. Maxie was the only person sitting up besides Clara, practically convulsing, her upper body bobbing up and down, face scrunched and beaming wildly. Next to her, Hannah was sitting sideways in her chair, hand in her face, as if she was trying to hide, eyes caving in on themselves. Lastly, the twins had their palms flat on the table, scalps in between and on the table itself, backs heaving like Bryan's stomach, Evan's face tilted to his right cheek.

Clara just smiled widely, her full mouth of pearly-white glowing in the light, and giggled.

Maxie grabbed her glass and held it up at Clara. The other woman picked up her own and the two "clinked" glasses in good fun. She then exchanged low fives with Isaac and the twins. All the while, Bryan struggled furiously to try and swallow the drink in his mouth. Eventually, he managed to stop laughing long enough to do so, though he barely forced it before he continued.

But Justin was the first to speak. "Where did that come from?" he asked rhetorically.

Bryan coughed once and pointed his index finger, impressed, at Clara. "That was good. That was really..." he let the sentence trail off as he heaved with laughter again.

"Yes, that was very creative," Justin added. He stretched his hand out over the table and shook hands with her. "Nice one. What's your name again?"

"Clara."

"Nice one, Clara. I haven't laughed that much in a long time."

"Thanks. He makes it pretty easy though."

Hannah began wiping tears out of her eyes.

Bryan now sat back, still smiling, so widely that it was starting to hurt. "Tell me, Clara, exactly _how_ many drinks did you have before you came here?"

Clara's smile only widened some more.

No one spoke for a while, still enjoying the pleasure of a good laugh.

When the silence finally broke, it was Isaac who spoke. "So Bryan, what was she–what was she referring to there?"

He grinned derisively at him. "Nothing. That's her idea of a joke I guess. A good one, yes, but still only a joke."

"Or so he says," Justin muttered, exchanging suspicious glances with Maxie.

"Oh shut up."

"Do you _really_ keep a gun under your pillow?" Hannah asked.

Bryan hesitated, sitting back again. "Yes I do, and the only reason Clara knows that is because I told it to her once as part of a story. Right, Clara?" He stared quizzically over at her, hoping that she didn't take this joke any further.

Knowing that the spotlight was, for the moment, again on her, Clara smiled, using that as a response instead of actual words. "Yeah, sure," she finally answered.

Bryan rolled his eyes again and sighed, giving in, taking another sip of his Glazer.

Justin shook his head, eyes looking across the room still smiling. "This is great."

"You sure, there, Bryan?" Isaac asked, grinning. "Your sure you didn't only _tell_ her?"

The General glanced over at him inquisitively. "Yeah, Isaac, I only _told _her. However, your girlfriend knows about it too, and I didn't tell her." He grinned slyly. "She found out the hard way." He took another, very small sip, as that little joke set in, without somewhat good results. They seemed to have like that. "Yeah," he continued, acting as if he was looking back on a good memory. "Her face accidently slammed down into it that one night..."

Immediately, Justin keeled over onto the tabletop, both hangs on the sides of his head. "Ahhh, scary image! No, no, get out of my head!" He shouted in agony. Nonetheless, he was the only one that reacted in that way. Maxie, Hannah, and the twins all sneered at the joke, not impressed. Clara just took down a portion of her drink, hiding her reaction. And in good fun, Bryan raised his drink and touched glasses with Isaac.

Meanwhile, Justin was still keeled over on the table, trying harder than he should have to get rid of whatever image he kept seeing.

Bryan scowled over at him. "Oh, knock it off, you big baby. Can't be that bad."

"No, dude, it is." He finally raised his head, looking Bryan directly in the eye. "Don't you ever say that again."

Bryan shrugged defensively. "Hey, I didn't start all this." He pointed over at Clara kept his eyes on Justin. "That would be _her_ that did that."

"Yes," Justin agreed, "But her's was creative, not disgusting like yours." he shut his eyes for an instant and shook his head. "No, dude, just don't _ever_ say that again."

Bryan smiled, amused, inside his glass as he took in his final sip. As he watched his old friend continue to shake his head, his thoughts momentarily shifted back to a funny event that at first Bryan hadn't believed. It was hard to believe that a man with such an abstract attitude was once believed to have been a god...


	6. Tale One: Democracy Sucks!

**Tale 1: "Democracy Sucks!"**

10:30 A.M. Five years before the Battle of Corpagia

"We're approaching it from Mark 889. It's about one hundred million kilometers in diameter, mass about 3.5 million kilotons."

Justin paused for a response. "Should we investigate it a little further."

Another pause. "Anything dangerous in it?"

Justin's eyes casually scanned the large nebula off to his right, his fingers dancing across the LCD pad. "No dangers that I can see," he commented. "Hold on." The LCD results told him nothing serious. "Scopes aren't picking anything volatile. I'm pretty sure its all right, control. Pat?"

"No, I'm not seeing anything dangerous either," Patricia O'Sheen responded for her Y-Wing.

"Okay, then. Proceed, but be cautious. Remember the rumors we've heard about this area. Get out of there at the first sign of trouble; no hero stuff, got it?"

"–Yes, sir–"

"–got it, yes, sir." Justin had already altered his course. "Switch to extensive scanning, Radio." The R-2 unit behind him "tweedled," and the lighting in the cockpit dimmed somewhat, giving more power to the sensors. Outside the cockpit canopy, Justin caught a glimpse of Pat's engines going dark as they disappeared into the nebula. He sighed to himself. "Here we go." The nebula was right in front of him now, and then suddenly was engulfed in it, so fast it almost made him jump in surprise. Heart beat calming as the tiny thick spot of the nebula passed by him, Justin checked the sensor reports. At the same time that happened, Pat's light voice rang over the comlink.

"Looks like this thing's hollow on the inside here. I'm picking up a discontinuation of nebula particles in the next few kilometers here. Only space dust comin' up."

"That's odd. You mean just empty space?" At that precise moment, the thin cloud of nebula dissipated completely, and Justin's view was once again filled with the vastness and dullness of space. "Okay, so you _did_ mean empty space."

"Well what other kind is there?" Pat asked sarcastically.

Justin grinned. "Umm...well...fill-filled space, maybe, I dunno."

Pat chuckled. "Filled space..." She repeated.

"Well I had a hard time believing that there was any empty space inside a nebula. When have _you_ ever heard of that?" He glanced around the apparent "hole" as Pat said something he didn't hear. "So do we classify this as like a...'hole' or something?"

"I dunno," Pat responded. "I guess so–wait, are we still in touch with control, because my com is telling me 'no.'"

Casually, Justin checked his own com unit. The light wasn't on. "No, we got disconnected somehow. Must be the nebula."

"No," Pat answered immediately. "They're aren't anything–isn't anything in here that would jam com signals."

Justin checked his LCD readouts. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

He frowned at the readouts. "Yeah, you're right. Nothing. Hmmm. Let me try opening the channel again." He flipped the switch and his light came on, green, again. However, instead a nice, clear channel, Justin's ears were bombarded with an endless burst of static. He jumped in his seat. "Whoa!" Instinctively, he grabbed the volume dial and twisted it left quickly. Relief. Justin turned it up to medium volume and listened to the static for a moment before speaking. "Control, are you there? This is Robin One." A pause. Nothing. "Repeat, control, this is Robin One, can you hear me?"

The static now began to hit bumps and was jumping from rhythm to rhythm. Mixed in with the jumps was a tone that was shifting pitches, like a voice. Justin finally concluded that it was control trying to break through the apparent communications block.

Disappointed, Justin re-opened the channel to Patricia. "Pat, I can't get 'em back; all I'm getting is static." As soon as he finished saying that, he heard static on this channel, too. "Aw, what the hell..." He raised his voice. "Pat, can you hear me?" High-pitched static was the answer. Pat heard him.

_High-pitched static, high-pitched static, _"–ly." _High-pitched static, _"I kno–"..._high-pitched static, high-pitched static_ "–ear that?"

Justin spoke slowly in his response. "No. Repeat. No. I. Did. Not. Hear. You. Repeat what you said, Pat."

_High-pitched static _"–llo–"..._high-pitched static_ "–e."

Pat's Y-Wing suddenly veered off its current course and flew overhead, passing over Justin's canopy. Assuming that Pat had said "Follow me," he also changed course, tailing the other ship.

Justin was a little confused. "Hey, Radio, you know where he's goin?" The droid gave a sharp bass tone. Justin looked out at the "hole" in the direction Pat was going. "Are the sensors picking up anything–any object or anomaly or something?" A pause before another sharp bass tone. "Pat, where are we going?" Justin tried again. Still nothing but static. Justin moaned in irritation. He liked to be informed.

This time, however, Pat's return signal was a little legible. "The links ar..." _high-pitche_– "-y a magnet..." _high-pitched sta– _"-nd. I don't kno..." _high-p– _"-t follow me. Hang–" _high-pitched static, static, static, static_...

Justin groaned again. Swallowing, he pushed his accelerator to maximum. The Y-Wing shot forward on its newfound power, carving a path behind Pat, still not knowing exactly where he was going. Ahead of him, Pat's Y-Wing started curving around a peninsula-shaped puff of pink-and-blue nebula.

From the comlink came the robotic tones and beeps of Radio. The astromech droid drew a map of the "hole" on the LCD, then added lines symbolizing what the display said was the communication channels. The incoming ones were dyed green, the outward ones dyed red. According to the map, those lines were all being dragged away from their original destinations, pulled like rope to a general area of the "hole"–the area Justin and Pat were coming around too now.

Justin frowned at the readout. "Where's it going, Radio?"

COORDINATES 345-90:432-78 MARK 567, Radio said on the screen. THE PLANET.

"What planet?–oh." Justin looked out the canopy just in time to see the puff of nebula fall out of view to the ship's right. Hiding behind it was a large, rather sunken looking planet, unmoving inside a pocket of the "hole." The surface was covered in a dark green shade, practically blending it in with space. It was a rogue planet, attached to no sun or any other mass of gravity. It looked dead almost. "What planet _is _that?"

UNKNOWN. NO FILE ON RECORD.

Justin sighed passively. "Well of course, Radio, but I meant what _type_ of planet is it?"

A moment. CLASS-D: SURFACE MASS NINETY PERCENT SWAMP; TWO PERCENT PLAINS; FIVE PERCENT ROCK; ONE PERCENT OCEAN; ONE PERCENT FOREST.

"Well where'd it come from? There definitely aren't any suns around here."

UNKNOWN.

Justin stared out mystically at the mysterious planet. "This is weird, Radio." Realizing he was starting to zone out, he snapped to his senses. They were done now. "All right, we're done here, right? Scanner's aren't picking up anything unusual are they?–I mean, besides the obvious?"

YES. THE JAMMING CIRCUIT.

"What jamming–oh yeah, the communication lines. Are they back–?"

A portion of the nebula suddenly exploded, an expanding ball of flame that fizzled out in under a second. Chunks and particles of the nebula were shot in all directions, and a large, flat brown disc-shaped object scoured with black battle marks came flipping out in the explosion's wake, end-over-end. The object was a ship, that was floating away from the depth of the nebula, away from the planet. Debris from its many parts was traveling much faster, sprinting across the "hole." Justin watched the ship as it drifted towards his Y-Wing, clearly a dead mass. Parts of it seemed to be on fire, and several holes had been into the hull. It had no aft section, and a good portion of the right-hand part of the disc had been blown away, either by the explosion or...

Or the ship that charged out of the nebula after it; the bigger, arrowhead-shaped one. It wasn't drifting, it was attacking, front end pointing at the dead ship. All around it, more ships, much smaller, one-man-looking craft like the Y-Wing, also appeared. They're were two types of them, one disc-shaped, and another arrowhead-like, and they were both taking pot shots at the opposite type. From what Justin could tell, the disc ones were losing–judging by their numbers: Six versus twelve arrowheads.

The big cruiser fired a round of energy bursts from its guns. Half of them hit the dead ship, blowing it apart for good, and sending the large debris hurtling through the "hole." The other half forced Justin to take evasive actions as they swept over the top of his Y-Wing. The shots eventually made it to the other side of the "hole," causing another huge explosion upon hitting the nebula.

But Justin ignored all that. He grabbed the joystick and veered in the opposite direction of the battle, back towards where he and Pat had entered the nebula from. "Okay, we're getting out of here now!" He opened the comlink, not caring whether or not the lines were still jammed. "Let's get outta here, Pat!"

Pressing the throttle to full, Justin blasted away from the scene, the mysterious swamp planet now in his rear window. Looking out to his right, he saw Pat in line with him, neck-and-neck.

Radio started screeching madly, then "tweedled" and garbled a long chain of sounds. WE ARE BEING FOLLOWED.

Justin saw the contact on his LCD, then looked back to see it for himself. Sure enough, a brown, somewhat undamaged fighter craft was quickly gaining on the slow Y-Wings. It was one of the disc ones.

"Damn it!" he hissed. "Evasive Pat!" But he saw that she already began moving. She broke to starboard; Justin going to port. He immediately activated the shields, then pitched the Y-Wing into a tail spin, hooking it back to starboard. Suddenly, a warning klaxon sounded in the cockpit.

INCOMING! Radio reported.

Justin saw the projectile even before Radio reported it, and he put the Y-Wing into a straight-down dive, still tailspinning. The shot missed him by a mile, passing on his port side. Relieved, he pulled the ship out of its tailspin, and pulled up towards his original heading. Checking the LCD for Pat's signal, he saw it behind the disc ship, giving chase and he hoped that–

LIEUTENANT BERISLO! Radio screeched. At the same time, the warning klaxon sounded again.

Justin looked out in shock at the same projectile that had just missed him. It had now turned around and was shooting right back at his Y-Wing. That damn thing had tracking!

"Shit!" Justin shouted. He yanked on the control stick to move his craft out of the way, but failed. The projectile hit the Y-Wing on its belly and exploded. The force and energy completely annihilated the shields, and Justin's world was suddenly turned upside down.

His head hurt from it hitting the side of the cockpit, and his vision was slightly blurry. All around him, the cockpit sparked and cracked, systems fried or burning. The LCD was blown out, and the transparisteel canopy was cracked on all its surfaces. Justin could feel the burns on his face. The cockpit shook all around him, and he couldn't hear Radio anymore through his helmet headset.

Suddenly, a giant spark sprang out of the hyperdrive system next to his left knee. It hit him directly in his face, jolting his entire body and frying his nervous system like all of the Y-Wing's systems. _How'd it do that so fast? _was the first and last question that went through Justin's mind before he was unconscious.


	7. Tale One: Part Two

Justin's head hurt. He could feel the migraine cutting straight through his dream, a terrible vision of the cockpit of his Y-Wing exploding in a shower of sparks and fires.

Which–when he woke up the instant later, heart pounding–he guessed was where he had been before his lost consciousness.

For a moment, he didn't know who he was, or better, where he was. His head still hurt too. Then he remembered his name was Justin Berislo, a pilot–a Lieutenant–aboard the...the Cruiser _Defiance. _He sat up, hand cradling his bulging head. The pain was heart-wrenching, worse with every second that passed. Vision still burry, Justin jolted his head to try and get it working fullyand wake him up. It worked, though somewhat painfully.

As his vision returned, he got more and more uncomfortable by the sights around him. The soft bed he was sitting up on was trying to comfort him, but it didn't seem to be helping very much. The room around him was decorated with all sorts of jewels. Huge, arm-sized red wine-colored circular rubies were hung in cases all around the disc-shaped room. Disc-shaped...something from his dream–oh wait, those two ships, the dead one and the one shooting at it. His Y-Wing, getting shot–

Justin threw back the brown covers of the really nice bed, and practically tripped over the long, draping bed-sheet. Tearing his foot from the sheet, Justin stood up tall and scanned around the room, now wondering why he had rushed so quickly. There was no one else in the room with him, and he noticed that he was still wearing his flight suit. Whoever had captured him apparently either liked him, or was soft when it came to prisoners–

Pat!

Where was she?!

As he remembered, she had been flying recon with him when they went into the nebula...had lead him to a planet...was chasing the disc ship that was shooting at him..and then he realized he didn't what happened to her after that. That was the part of the vivid dream where the dream had ended.

So where was she now?

Justin looked around the room. Along with those huge rubies, there were necklaces of diamonds lining the top of the wall. Paintings, two of ancient-looking ground battles, and two of just two regular people, one furry man and one furry woman, both entrenched in light, were placed in specific spots along the curving wall. At the foot of the bed was a brown, wooden artifact with purple pastel eyes. It's face was stretched out like the killer from the movie _Scream_, and its hands placed right-over-left on the wooden chest.

But Justin wasn't concerned with the beauty of the room–though it _was_ nice. He had to find his partner. He started by heading towards the balcony he just noticed was on the other side of the bed. There was no glass, no shield of any kind, so he gingerly walked out into the bright sunlight–

Wait, if he was on the planet he thought he was on, the rogue one, then there shouldn't be any sunlight–

And there wasn't. The balcony overlooked a giant, multi-level city being lit by _artificial_ sunlight from five god-like, humongous fluorescent lamps built into a rock ceiling of the cavern that this city was in. The underground metropolis had a skyline for the ages, making New York City back on Earth looks like Cleveland, Ohio. The cylindrical skyscrapers seemed to go forever; the environment around it helping it. The moisture that Justin felt on what little exposed skin that he had must have created the immense cloud of fog that the tall buildings disappeared into. The fog was dense, but not large. Justin could easily see through it to identify the fluorescent lamps that lit the city.

All of a sudden, a loud, resounding cheer erupted from below the balcony. Justin grabbed the railing and swung his gaze over it–and his jaw dropped. Far below him on a high terrace was a staggering large crowd all waving their arms and jumping up and down in happiness and joy. Some held their small children up, and some fell to their knees, hands to the sky in praise at–at–

Justin felt the blood drain from his face.

At him.

Strained shouts of joy, some of despair, raced into Justin's ears. A scattered number of the crowd hoisted posters and paintings above their heads–paintings that looked very similar to the one of the furry man back in the bedroom. Though he didn't want to start second-guessing about this situation, Justin was slowly starting to consider that that man was supposed to be him. He found it hard to believe, though, by the fact that the man looked nothing like him at all.

Because of the crowd's noise, Justin didn't hear the doors open behind him, and Patricia O'Sheen had to call his name three times before he heard her and turned around. They embraced warmly for a moment, Justin truly happy to see that his wingmate was okay. Pat too apparently, because she didn't let go for a full ten seconds. Justin had always suspected that she had a crush on him.

When she did let go, she quickly looked him in the eyes and said, "We need to talk." She turned to the three black, furry aliens that had followed her in, all carrying three books each, and all looking like the pictures on the wall. "Please drop the book–_place_ the books on the floor and leave us," she said to them gently.

"Pat, where are–?" Justin started.

She put a finger on his lips without looking at him. "Hang on."

The aliens, all wearing gray uniforms that reminded Justin of a mechanic's jumpsuit, slowly bent over, their eyes gazing on Justin with wonder and nervousness–kind of like the crowd outside–and put the books down, without a sound, onto the shiny circular floor. They then snapped back to attention, standing stiff as boards.

"Pat–"

She raised a finger. "Shhh."

A second later, they turned in a complete 180, and started at a brisk pace towards the door, now not even looking at him at all, and exited, the circular double doors hissing closed behind them.

"Pat–"

She snapped-turned to him. "Okay, long story short, these guys think we're gods. I don't know why, because I thought I better not ask, especially since they think we're gods. Right? Right." She looked really flustered, and really confused, hands low on her hips. "So anyway, we're supposed to be gods, and we need to _act_ like them, because we'll be executed if we don't, according to those books over there. Impersonating a god is a capital offense here. You with me so far?"

"Yes, but can I ask a question?" Justin interjected quickly.

"Sure, what?"

"Two actually. First, where are we?"

"The planet Norgodon–it's the rogue one we saw in the–in the 'hole.' in the nebula."

"Yeah I figured as much. Second, who are all these people and why do they think we are gods?"

"They're called–that's three by the way–the Katar. They're diggers, good ones too–I mean you saw that city outside, right?"

Justin nodded in awe. "Yeah. I thought I was still dreaming," he said with a dry smile.

Pat grinned wryly. "So did I. I think–"

"By the way are you all right? You look pretty good."

Pat nodded her head passively, pushing a strand of brown hair out of her face. "Yeah I'm fine. A few scratches on my hands, but they're nothing. I went down pretty easy compared to you." She flashed her brows at him inertly. "How 'bout you? How are the burns?"

"Burns? Where are they?"

"All over your face, darlin.'"

Justin's heart skipped a beat when she said that last word.

Concerned, his hand groped around his face, not taking long to find the burns. At least the one anyway. His skin felt rough around the left side of his face, and it gave off a pang of pain as he glided his fingers down it. He looked around the room for a mirror, and spotted one on the far wall, directly parallel with the big bed, leading him to question why he hadn't noticed it when he first got up. From this distance, he could already see that his face was much darker than the last time he had seen it, that morning in his quarters aboard the _Defiance_. As he got closer to the mirror, he saw why. The entire left side of his face–where that giant spark from the hyperdrive had hit him–was black and dark blue. It started at the tip-top of his forehead, passed over his entire left eye socket, and ended, sporadically, three-fourths of the way down his cheek. Elsewhere on his face were more burns, much less severe.

Inside, Justin laughed, because the burns made his face look like the picture on the wall. Which made him wonder....

"What are these pictures? Are they of us–of the 'gods?'"

"Yeah." She pointed to the picture of the male. "That's you, Corbollion, Ruler of the Afterlife. Its like heaven." She pointed to the other picture, the female. "That's me, Oralia, your Queen." Her tone suddenly dropped pitch in annoyance. "'Woman are second' exists here too."

Justin turned back to her and smiled. "Hey, it's not our fault if that makes you feel any better. We've just provided more over the...generations. Besides, you'll fit the Queen role perfectly."

Pat shrugged. "I'm not arguing." She smirked. "It just means that _you_ guys have to do more work. Haha."

Justin simply kept smiling, then turned back to his reflection in the mirror. "We don't look like them though: you don't look like Cor–I mean Oralia, and I don't look _that much_ like Corbollion, even with the burns; I have a question: what makes them think we're them?"

Pat's face flashed an alert look. "Shhh!" she hissed. "Don't say that too loudly."

"Well do you know?"

"No, I don't, but what's more important is that the Katar don't know who we really are. I read some of their laws." She bent over and picked up the top book on the left stack. She opened it and walked over to Justin. "They execute anyone who tries to impersonate Corbollion or Oralia. They rip your heart out with a spike while your still alive."

Justin froze, hair standing on end.

"Here."

Pat thrust the book in front of his face, and Justin threw up in his mouth, then swallowed it down. The picture took up an entire page, probably for emphasis on the law and its consequences. It did a good job too. The picture was a colored and detailed sketch of a tall Katar man with a large–again emphasis–red hole in his chest and his heart, still pumping out blood, on a long metal-tipped spike. The mouth was open in a frozen scream of terror, arms spread wide like he was being crucified.

Justin closed the book in Pat's hands, his mind trying to get rid of seeing _him_ in that picture. "Okay, I get the picture. No pun intended."

"Good, and don't ever tell them, because they believe honesty. Say your not a god and they'll believe you, and then kill you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Justin said blandly. He stared at the nine thick books on the floor. "So all those books have everything I need to know about being Corbollion?"

Pat nodded. "No, but it'll be enough for now. I'll tell you what you should read." She set the book down, crooked, on top of the stack. "Now listen up 'cause there's more, if you thought being a god was unbelievable wait 'til you hear this: You're in charge of the planet now too."

Justin was dumbfounded by that. His jaw dropped a mile, and his eyes lit ablaze with an unmatched fear. "WHAT?!"

"Shhh–!"

"You-you can't be–I mean, you gotta be kidding me, I can't–" he lowered his voice to a fierce whisper. "I can't run a _planet! _I'm a pilot not a–a Congressmen, not a _politician_!" He backed away from her, panicking.

"Justin–"

"No. You do it," he said rudely. "I can't...I can't...no way."

"You _have _to, Justin. Your _Corbollion_, and the President has already resigned–"

"–Shit–!"

"–Remember–remember what happens to people who impersonate gods?" She asked, picking up the same book as before.

Justin stopped her by extending his palm flat at her. "Yeah, I remember, but...but...Pat it's a fucking planet!"

She walked over to him and placed her arms on his shoulders. "I know, I know," she said gently.

He didn't care if that was too affectionate, he needed it right now, with his mind going crazy and his hands shaking somewhat.

"I'll try to help as best I can, I promis," she said with puppy-eyes.

Justin moved away from her, turning to face the balcony. "Thanks. I'll need it."

"Your welcome, darlin.'" She smiled humorously. "I think you'll need it too."

Justin nodded his thanks, then turned back to her, trying to act as bold and strong as he could. "What do I need to know?"

Pat sat on the foot of the bed, and pointed over to the books. "Read as much of those as you can. They'll tell you enough of what you need. I'll tell the Katar's to leave you alone for a while, let you get caught up. Then I'll try and seek out some small issues that you could focus on for the time being, until we can think of a plan to get off this rock."

Justin agreed. "That's sounds good. Let's do it."

Pat nodded. "Fine. There's more you need to know that I think _I'd _better explain to you, but I'll do it later, give you some time alone." With that, she stood up, and gave her cutest, warmest smile. "I'll be back in a bit. Good luck adjusting."

"Thanks."

As she started for the door, Justin just stood in his place, looking at the shiny floor, thinking hard. But he couldn't. Too much pressure, too many questions. Trying to distract himself intentionally, he randomly glanced down at his watch.

And frowned. "Wait!"

Pat stopped a few paces before the door.

"Pat has it really been three hours since the...they attacked us?"

"Mmhmm," she sounded. "What about it?"

He looked up at her with suspicion. He then walked out onto the balcony again, practically glaring up at the sky. "If it's _really_ been three hours, then where the hell has Sam?"


	8. Tale One: Part Three

An hour later, Justin's eyes were starting to get sore and heavy from reading. He lay stretched out on the white bed, chin propped up on his crossed arms, like a teenager. He had long since taken off his boots, and they lay angled away from each other at the foot of the bed.

The book, _The Script of Corbollion_, was a history of Corbollion's reign over Norgodon and how he – mysteriously–went from to becoming an immortal god. The time period was the Norgodon year 10222, the year that the Great Rampage had taken place–a slaughter of the Katar by the Boshkans, an ancient race that had gone extinct in the Norgodon year 19178, all murdered by the vengeful Katar. Justin had taken note many times about how easy commiting murder came to these people, and it gave him another reason not to tell the Katar who he and Pat really were.

The _Script _also told him why the Katar believed him and Pat to be the gods Corbollion and Oralia: they didn't have any physical form, so they could have been anybody. This explained why the paintings of Corbollion and Oralia looked like everyday Katar, not mystical, powerful figures. He had yet to find out why, out of all the people on Norgodon,–over 7 billion according to Pat–why had they chosen he and Pat? Justin's only guess was because they were outsiders, and Norgodon didn't get very many outsiders Pat had said. But that still seemed like a huge flaw in regular logic, and the Katars, from what Justin had seen so far, were very intelligent, and it seemed wrong that they would think that.

Finally finishing the chapter he was reading, Justin picked himself up off the bed, rubbing his eyes slowly and yawning. Then his eyes fell on the seven remaining book he had yet to skim through, and he moaned ever so slightly.

When Pat had returned from the Katars, she had immediately told him what to read. Most of it was history; of Norgodon, of Corbollion and Oralia, and, smartly, a short history of Norgodon's President Delik Waaserta and the short term he had served before resigning five hours ago upon "Corbollions" return. This was meant to teach Justin a crash-course of sorts on how to run a planet full of intelligent beings.

Pat had then explained to him verbally about the current war between the Katar and another species, the Yervians. The Yervians were distant cousins with the Katar who shared Norgodon with them, and had only recently gone to war with them over _ferw_, an oil-like substance that they used in a wide variety of medicines. The Katar's were so smart that they apparently were arrogant and ignorant as a result. When the two sides couldn't reach an agreeable treaty for the _ferw_, the Yervians declared war on the Katar. So far, they were winning, for what the Katar had in intellect they lacked in decisive action and leadership; and Justin guessed that that was where _he_–or rather, Corbollion–came into the mix, though thankfully not yet.

Not much had happened in the last hour besides him reading for most of it. About twenty minutes had passed since another person had stepped into his room. The man had been a former assistant to the President, and had presented Justin with the five most temptingly beautiful women he had ever seen as a gift to him. There must have been something special about them because it took all of Justin's will to refuse the "gifts."

And so began another hour of the god Corbollion, Justin's alter ego and what he believed to be his enemy.

It started off with the front doors hissing open. Pat walked in again, this time with no Katar behind her, and no fixed expression on her face: it was neutral. In her left hand, though, were–if Justin remembered correctly–_forse-s_, which was the closest that came to regular paper.

She came to a stop directly in front of him. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Pretty good. I'm starting to like this guy. He's not one of those cruel gods." He snickered. "I thought I was going to have to act mean or something; like, execute somebody if they looked at me wrong. But this guy wouldn't do that I don't think. He seems pretty nice."

Pat smiled widely and nodded her agreement. "Yeah, I know. I was a little astonished myself." She giggled. "He kind of reminds me of Jesus."

Justin considered this. "Yeah, I...guess. I don't know. It seems hard to think about him _that _way when we're, you know, on another planet."

Pat shrugged carelessly.

"So what are those?" Justin, nodding pointedly at the papers in her hand. "Do they want autographs now?"

Pat giggled again. "No. It's better than that: your first issues as President of Norgodon."

Instantly, Justin's heart shriveled up in his chest, and he got a huge sinking feeling. Nevertheless, he tried to keep up a cheery mood. "Oh, boy. What's first?"

"Don't worry; their not so bad." She handed the first paper to him. "First is a proposal for a 50,000 _terr_ raise to the Radaar Scholarship Program in the city Ferruterro. It's written by a professor at the local university, something like Salse Hair or something."

"Salsde Hairre," Justin corrected according to the paper.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, he wants more money, and he's been bugging the government about it since before the original President, the guy who just resigned, was elected."

Justin, for the moment assuming that _terr_ meant dollar in English, skimmed over the paper. "Would 50,000 _terr_ be a lot to give to something like that?"

"I don't know," Pat answered. Justin looked up at her quizzically. "What?" she said defensively. "How am I supposed to know?"

Justin instantly was filled with regret. "All right. Sorry. You just know so much more about these people than I do. I _still _think you should be the one running the planet, and not me." He grinned charmingly. "You're a lot smarter than I am."

"Thanks, but personally, I think men are much better at these types of things than woman."

"Ahhhh, don't say that quite yet," Justin argued. "You'd do a much better job at this than I am. I'm still in shock from the whole thing; the whole...responsibility."

Pat smiled at the remark. "You'll get better as you go."

Justin sighed in protest. "I hope so, and I hope Sam gets here soon. What's takin' her so long?" His eyes returned to the paper, but he was looking at it. He barely saw the words, his mind distracted again, once again getting pulled in by the fear of his sudden new job.

"I'm sure you will," Pat said distantly.

"Thanks," Justin said weakly. Realizing that he probably looked weird right about now, he forced his gaze back up at Pat. "Do you know if it's a good program? Like, how prestigious is it?"

Pat gestured to the paper irritably. "It's in there."

Justin skimmed back through the paper again, and found the answer he was looking for. It made him chuckle. "Five time Corbollion Medal of Honor award. Not bad I guess." He looked up. "Sure why not? Send me the paperwork because _I_ have to fill it out probably, right?"

Pat shook her head. "No, your government's policy council does that. You're a god remember? Also, you can't just say 'sure why not' and be done with it. Do you know why not, 'cause by now you should," she exacted, glancing at the stack of books by the bed.

"Well I don't," Justin said with a pang of despite. "But I hope you do."

Pat moaned. "Okay, it's all based on the honesty—clause. Katars believe that the highest form of complete honesty is verbal honesty. In other words, word by mouth means full telling-of-the-truth."

A few moments passed as Justin took this in. "Okay, and...?"

"_And_ that means you have to tell that professor, Hair or whatever his name is, _yourself_ that you approve his Scholarship Proposal. And that means that after you tell him, you _have_ to approve it, otherwise you will shame Hair _and _yourself and that–"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Justin said quickly. "If I shame Hairre and me, it might expose us; I get it."

"All right. Good." She paused. "Hair is waiting downstairs right now, so I'll have him sent up. Now I can't be here when you talk to him, so just know that. Okay?"

Justin fixed her with a nervous look. "Why not?"

"You have to tell him yourself. It's a rule in their lawbook. You'll read about it eventually. Remember to lock your hands together like this." She coupled her hands so that one hand was standing upright, fingers folded down and hold the other hand's fingers, which were sideways. "It's their mutual sign of respect."

He easily duplicated the sign with barely any effort.

"And make sure you he returns it to you. It'll make him feel more comfortable around you." She let out a breath. "Okay, here we go. Your first act as President." She placed her hands on his shoulders and shook them again. "Here we go. I'll go send him up." She hugged him. "Good luck."

Hugging her back, Justin was reminded of a memory from when back he was a teenager, during a production of Shakespeare's _A Midsummer's Night Dream_. He and Bryan and Kenny had been in it, and there was a different saying that Bryan always insisted on saying.

"No, it's break a leg," Justin told Pat. "'Cause it's bad luck to say 'good luck' before an actor puts on a show," he finished with a smile.

Pat rolled her eyes comically and left their embrace, headed for the doors. "Break a leg then."

"Thanks, see you later."

"Bye." She left the room, and Justin just breathed.

--

The Presidential robes now thrown over him, Justin patiently paced his room a few minutes later as he waited for the Hairre professor, and his career as leader of a planet to begin. It certainly felt like the time before opening curtain in a show, with all the nervous and scary feelings.

The doors hissed apart, and a tall Katar man stepped through into the room, very nervous.

Justin turned to him, standing as tall and "godly" as he could. "Professor Salsde Hairre I presume?" he addressed him. _Always wanted to say that_. Grinning from ear to ear, Justin walked up to the bewildered Katar and made the sign of respect that Pat had showed him.

But Hairre didn't move. He didn't shake like most of the Katar Justin had already encountered, but the look on his face was the same as all of them–a mix of awe, shock, and fear. So Justin's hands just stayed out there for a while, alone. He grinned. "It's all right Professor Hairre." He wanted to tell him "I'm not anything special," but concluded that that would be a bad idea instantly. He calmly searched for the right thing to say. He got an idea and went with it. "As long as we can stare each other in the eye, Professor, we are equal." That seemed to relieve him, for his shoulders sank slightly and he returned the sign for respect. Justin continued to smile and bowed his head for no reason. Hairre returned the bow.

Suddenly, Justin felt extreme guilt. He didn't know where it came from or why, but swiftly it flooded through his system, and he became ashamed. He still didn't know why. But he had to push it off for now, and pay attention to what he had to do. He only hoped that the guilt hadn't snuck into his expression. "Pro-professor Hairre, I support your–your–" _DAMMIT, DAMMIT! _He screamed in his mind. "–Pro-proposal–"

Then it hit him. The reason for his sudden stab of guilt.

This was wrong.

Pat was wrong. He had absolutely not right to be doing this, no _power_ to do it! He wasn't Corbollion, he was Justin Berislo! He wasn't a god; he was just a pilot! And now he was trying to tell this nervous, caring, bold man in front of him a lie?! To give this hard-working Katar something he had no power to give him. He was lying to an innocent person. NO!

Justin struggled for what to say next. He couldn't finish the sentence, because then he would be telling Hairre a lie, and shame this decent looking man. His mouth opened and closed several times, and his mind raced–too fast: he didn't have time to think of anything. What if tried to change the topic? Was there anyway he could call Pat? What if Hairre suspected something? What if he figured out the hoax just by looking at Justin? Where was Sam? What else could he say to stall for time?

As if God had been listening, the next moment the comlink in Justin's flight suit buzzed. Only two people knew about that link, Justin and Pat, which meant it had to be Pat calling him. Relief flooding every muscle in his body, Justin swiped beneath the Presidential robes and snatched the comlink out of its pocket, turning it on as soon as humanly possible. "Excuse me," he mumbled to Hairre. "Pat–" he lowered his voice to a sharp whisper so that, hopefully, Hairre didn't hear him. The Katar stood there, slightly confused. "I can't do this. I–I can't–"

"Justin, your not gonna believe this!" she said alertly, having not even heard, or cared probably either, what he had said. "The _Danoli _just entered the 'hole,' with five A-Wings escorting it and an assault transport, being chased—by a Yervian cruiser and Yervian support fighters! They're heading towards Norgodon!"

Justin's eyes widened in surprise and joy. The _Danoli_ was an Rebel Alliance Corellian gunship that traveled with the _Defiance_ task force!

Sam!

"Justin?" Hairre said behind, with a certain suspicion to his voice.

Justin turned around and looked at him in fear. Thinking quickly, he cupped the com in his hand and thrust the Presidential robes from his body, throwing them into Hairre's arms. "Here. You'll probably do a hell of a lot better than I'll ever do. I hope you get your extra money." With that, Justin bolted for the door and left the room behind forever. "Okay Pat, that's our ride out of here then! Let's go!"

"Justin!" Pat argued. "We just can't leave them–!"

"Fuck this Pat we're getting out of here now!"

"And how do you suppose we do that, huh? We're in an underground, it's not like they can just–beam us up or something!" she sharply whispered.

Justin jumped down some stairs, not knowing where he was going, but praying that he was going the right way. In a cavern, who knew. "Find their outside communication terminal or something! They _have_ to have one somewhere!" he jumped down the final stairwell and, as he had hoped, jumped into what looked like the lobby of the tower. And then he saw Pat standing off to one side of the room, cradling her comlink. She turned around and saw him after hearing his feet stomp on the floor from the last jump. They both began to search furiously for the communication terminal that Justin suggested. He had no clue what anything was though, for he hadn't ever stepped outside his room upstairs.

Pat knew though. She immediately started for the other side of the lobby, dodging past numerous Katar. Arriving at the alleged terminal, she turned it one, having now become somewhat of a amateur at Katar technology and just about everything else that had to do with them. She flipped one switch and turned another dial to a channel, then started talking into the terminal.

Justin was there in no time.

"–_oli, _this is Lieutenant Pat O'Sheen, do you read me?"

"This is Lieutenant Justin Berislo, _Danoli_, can you hear us?"

They both started shouting ravenously into the channel, each hoping to be heard.

"This is the _Danoli_," came the response a few moments later. "We hear you Lieutenants. We're here to rescue you. Where are you now?"

"We're in a cavern underground. I don't know how deep!" Justin answered.

"There's an opening into it!" Pat added. "We can get it open for you. Oh, guys, we are so glad to see you!" she said with relief.

"So are we," the other man said with happiness. "We'll find you, don't worry. Just be sure to open that door."

"Got it!" Justin said. He turned to nearest Katar, who immediately stepped back in fear. "Open the cavern door to the city!" he shouted, some device translating it into Katar language. "Now!" he ordered.

The Katar bowed his head, and then pointed a nervous finger at the communications terminal.

Justin got the message immediately. "We're opening the door now," Justin over the com. "Berislo out." He pushed Pat away from the terminal then back away himself. "Do it!" he ordered the Katar. The alien ran over to the terminal and performed the duty quickly and flawlessly. As soon as he was finished, he backed away from Justin and Pat and bowed again.

"It's done!" he reported.

Justin grinned out of joy and walked up to the Katar and shook his shoulders proudly. "You'll definitely be rewarded for your hard work in the Afterlife, my friend." _And you don't need me to be telling you that_, he almost added.

The Katar beamed brightly. "Thank you, Ruler Corbollion!"

Justin almost answered him, but realized that if he did so, he would be acting as Corbollion again. In fact, he already had. The guilt started flooding into him again.

Pat tugged at his arm. "This way!" she said, pointing towards two glass doors that lead outside. She started for them. Justin hesitated a moment, and turned back to all the Katar in the room, thinking of what he could say in farewell.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this happen like this, I...you guys have been great. Ummm...live long and prosper," he said lastly, and bolted for the doors, trying to catch up with Pat outside.

Minutes later, the assault transport _Challenger _dropped into the cavern from above and picked them up only a few minutes later. The Yervians were easily driven off by the _Danoli_ and it's escorts, and soon enough, Justin was watching the mysterious nebula get farther away from _Challenger_'s window, and then watching as the Calamari Cruiser _Defiance _slowly came into view on the other window. He was talking to his beloved Sam a few moments later.

Nevertheless, the damage had been done. He had just left the robes there, the responsibilities, the god. Now the Katar had another empty hole as their leader; now, when they needed one the most during their war with the Yervians. Many more would die and more suffering would ensue in the wake of Justin's abrupt escape. Though he was relieved to be free of Corbollion, he knew he would never forget what he had done. It would haunt him for the rest of his life.


	9. Three Heads Are Better Than One

The stars outside the Starlight Lounge were as bright as ever.

"Come on, man, I was kidding. Relax..." Bryan said neutrally.

Justin shook his head and pushed his hand out. "No, dude, don't say it ever again."

Bryan slumped and gave in. "All right, all right. Sorry. Won't happen again."

The other nodded slowly. "Good, man. Good."

"Sounds like you guys are kickin' it over here," the waitress said, coming from behind Maxie. "How 'bout some refills?"

A chorus of "Yes"'s prompted her to start collecting their empty glasses. She was a six-armed Hassalinoid, so getting all of them in one trip was easy for her. She calmly collected them and walked back to the bar.

They all sat in silence for a while, conversation dead. No one had anything interesting to say. Even Maxie and Kevin were silent, and they didn't break the silence either.

It was Hannah, with a straightforward observation to basically no one. "Oh, that guy is hot. Hot damn!"

"Who?" Maxie asked, looking around in the direction Hannah was looking.

"Him. Over there. The guy with the Alliance shirt on; he was at the briefing," Hannah answered, pointing to him.

Bryan followed her finger, past several guys with plain civilian clothing on, and finally spotted the Alliance shirt on a large, muscular man escorting Diana Hayes to a seat at the bar–it was Paul Darbles, the Fedrellon-who-looked-human from the briefing. Bryan tried hard to keep from snickering, but couldn't, and let out a crisp snicker.

Which caught everyone's attention at the silent table.

"What?" Justin said with a curious grin.

Bryan looked down at the tabletop and shook his head quickly. "Nooothing." His glanced up, grinning, at Hannah.

"What?" Hannah asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Bryan repeated.

"What, Bryan?"

"Yeah, what?" Maxie added. "Do you know him, Bryan?" she asked with a discerning grin and eyes twinkling.

Bryan's sour expression answered her immediately. "Yes, but not like that. His name's Paul Darbles, and he's not a human, by the way, he's Fedrellon."

Hannah's eyes suddenly became wide with excitement. "Really. He is? Yes!" she pumped her elbow back into her body.

Maxie huffed. "Slut..."

Hannah gaped at her friend, and slapped her on her shoulder. "Bitch," she answered.

"Bitch, I will fight you," Maxie said, her serious expression starting to break to a laugh.

"Bring it on, dry-ass!"

"You know what–" Maxie started. She finally broke after that. "I can't think of anything...bitch."

"Loser," Hannah responded, smiling now.

Maxie giggled and looked away from her, over at Darbles. "He's sexy though. What'd you say his name was, Bryan? Something like Drabels...?"

"Paul _Darbles_," he corrected. "He joined the corps after you left for the _Liberty_. Beware ladies; if I had a dollar for every time that man has had sex in the past three years, then I'd be richer than the Empire right now."

"Who cares," Hannah shrugged. "He's still hot."

Bryan leaned in and lowered his voice. "The guy had two daughters with two different mistres–mistre-mistresses, then abandoned them after they were born."

"Okay," Hannah snapped. "I'm not saying that I want to be his girlfriend, I'm just saying he's hot. Calm down."

"I heard he has his own condom fund," Isaac said seriously. "Like, he has an account at the store on the ship."

Bryan craned his neck and shot a glance over at him, smirking. "Yeah, he does. One of the clerks showed me."

Isaac's face lit up with amusement. "Really? An entire account?"

Bryan nodded. "Yup. Worth over six-hundred-and-fifty rebs."

That got a reaction from everybody. Isaac's eyebrows narrowed and let out a short laugh; Clara's eyes widened, looking as if she didn't know what face to put on; Kevin and Evan simply snickered; Maxie look disgusted, and Hannah didn't seem to care as much as everybody else.

Justin had the same look as Isaac, and said, "Holy shit. That's a lot of money. And this is just on condoms you say?"

Bryan nodded solemnly. "Only on condoms."

Justin now look disgusted. "Jesus...and you said he only had _two_ daughters?"

He cracked into another smile. "Yeah, only two."

The other man sat back and was shaking his head. "Stupid..."

They all knew that 650 rebs was a lot of money(rebs were the intergalactic currency used in all throughout the Alliance, equivalent to only twenty-seven cents of the original American dollar). Pilots themselves only got paid one-and-half rebs for every mission. Bryan knew a colony not far from where he was now whose entire planetary budget was just over eight-hundred-and-one rebs.

The waitress returned with all their drinks, completely refilled. She set them down where they needed to be, then removed the spill-shield from the top, leaving eight non-alcoholic drinks filled to the brim. The group said their thanks, and the waitress nodded kindly and left.

"Oh well, still hot," Hannah said quickly.

The men all groaned.

"Okay, we get it, Hannah," Evan commented.

"Hey, he _is_ hot, no matter what you say about him," Maxie added to Bryan.

"And you call _her_ a slut," Bryan mumbled under his breath.

Maxie glared knives at him. "What, Bryan? Were you talking to me?" she challenged.

Bryan looked at her with sarcastic innocence. "What, I didn't say anything..." he said, taking his first sip of the refreshing drink. It was just as soothing as the last one, and it felt, once again, as good as his first one ever.

Maxie smacked her lips and flicked him off, followed by a swig of her own drink, what looked like a Classic Cherry Coke. Looking off to her left, she asked, "What do you think Clara?"

Clara's eyebrows narrowed, as she was caught in mid-sip by the surprising question.

"You think he's hot? We need the smart girl's opinion. "

Clara put her glass down and calmly turned her head, looking back at Darbles, who was keeping his full attention on Diana and didn't seem tp notice that the girls had been staring at him for the past three minutes. She only glanced at him for a few moments before turning back around. Shrugging, she answered, "Yeah I guess. You shouldn't ask me though. I don't like Fedrellons." She took another sip.

"Weakling," Hannah insulted.

"Hannah!" Maxie exclaimed.

"Hey–" Bryan started.

Hannah held up her hands in surrender. "I was joking. I didn't mean it." She glanced over at Clara. "Sorry Clara."

"It's all right," Clara assured.

"Hey," Bryan tried again. He looked at Hannah but pointed at Clara. "She flies a frickin' B-Wing, for God's sake; she's braver than all of us."

"Okay, I apologized," Hannah said rudely. She had never liked Bryan, and he never really liked her.

"We _do_ need an expert opinion of him though," Clara added. She turned to her right and smiled widely. "Bryan?"

Justin broke into a humorous grin, as did Isaac and the twins. Maxie let out a small laugh, and Hannah's grin was the widest of them all.

"Damn, she's on the offensive today," Maxie commented.

Bryan had his glass raised to his lips, but stopped when he heard Clara, slamming it back down onto the table with a little spillage over the sides. "You know what..." he started. He then stopped, and flicked his gaze at Clara. "I don't like you anymore."

"Awww," Maxie said with a judgmental tone. "That was mean. Clara, don't listen to him."

Bryan just continued to stare at his old friend. "Like she does in the first place."

That drew another "awwwww" from Maxie. "You're an ass," she added.

"Okay everybody," Justin chimed in, addressing everyone. "I think Bryan and Clara wanna be alone, so why don't we–" he started to rise from his chair.

"Shut! Up!" Bryan snapped at the joke. "Sit your ass down, boy."

"Good one Justin," Isaac complimented with a chuckle.

Bryan rolled his eyes at Justin and took another sip. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tall man climbing up the stairs to the Lounge's small stage, heading for the microphone at the center of it. "Entertainment time," Bryan announced calmly.

The man, a Zeverian named Garkuk Bos'leth, who Bryan knew through his years on the _Faith_, grabbed the microphone, which caused it to let out a scratchy noise. It was small, but it got everyone's attention in the Lounge. He then proceeded to speak. "All right ladies and gentlemen, hello. My name is Garkuk Bos'leth, and I am the manager of this here Lounge. Since most of you are enjoying your last drinks before the upcoming attack, I'd like to help you also try and loosen up beforehand, so right now, in the spirit of good fun, I'd like to start a little talent –for anyone who wants to volunteer. Entertain us. We have a musician over here," he gestured to a human sitting at a classic Baby Grand piano off in one corner. "Do I have a volunteer to go first?"

Bryan's eyes widened with excitement. "Yes, us!" he shouted to Garkuk. "Me and the twins over here!" he continued, pointing at Kevin and Evan.

The two look at him like he was crazy.

Bryan bent over far across the tabletop and lowered voice so as not to be heard by anyone else besides the people at the table.

"Looks like we've–"

"–Three-headed Broadway Star!"

"–unteer. Commander Rawling, come on up."

The twins faces gleamed at the suggestion.

"Yeah–!"

"Sweet–!"

They shot up from their chairs and(Evan jumping over the back of his chair, Kevin nearly tripping on his chair's leg)bolted for the stage, Bryan circling around the table to join them. As the crowd murmured conversation amongst each other, the three ran up the stairs and onto the stage, excited beyond belief.

"Well," admitted a surprised Garkuk, "That's definitely the spirit we want up here." He paused for a crooked smile, then continued. "Okay, so Commander Rawling, Lieutenants Kevin and Evan Silliger, what do you guys want to do?" He flipped the microphone to Kevin's face.

"Three-headed Broadway Star," Evan said with energy into the mike.

"Oh, so improv?" Garkuk said with a stimulated, but still crooked, smile.

"Yes, sir," Kevin responded, still beaming.

Garkuk looked out at the somewhat vast crowd in the Lounge. "Okay. What do you say ladies and gentlemen?"

The whole Lounge erupted into applause and cheering.

"Okay then." The Zeverian gestured in respect at the three. "The stage is yours gentlemen." With that, he placed the microphone on the stand and walked off the stage.

Kevin took center stage and walked up the mike. "Okay, ya'll, we need two things to start this off. First, we need a volunteer; a lady please."

Several woman raised their hands. Some crazy ones got up out of their chairs and raced for the stage. But none of them even stood a chance against Maxie, who had been out of her chair before Kevin had even finished asking, and was already climbing the stairs to the stage.

Kevin laughed at this and shook his palm at the crowd. "Nevermind ladies. We got one, though we really don't want her considering we always sing to her when we do this. Maybe next time."

A chorus of groans and disappointed moans emanated from the women of the crowd.

"Next," Kevin continued, "We need the name of a fake hit Broadway show. Anybody wanna give us that...?"

The crowd shouted out several names and sentences. Bryan heard "Simpsons: the Musical" and "Little Dancing Calamarian" and simple ones like "Nothing" and "Armpit Hair."

But Evan heard the best one. "Hey Kevin, you heard that?"

"What?" Kevin said, turning back to his brother.

"That one said 'Mucous and Boogers: the Musical,'" he replied, laughing.

Kevin broke into a laugh. "I like that." He whirled back to the mike as the ideas kept pouring in. "Okay, guys, we got 'Mucous and Boogers: the Musical.' We like that one," he said over the crowd's noise. Once they had quieted down, Kevin continued. "Aight, now we need the hit love song from 'Mucous and Boogers' to sing to Maxie here."

More ideas rang in from the crowd, and once again it was Evan who singled out the best one. "'I'll Pick Your Nose,'" he shouted to his brother.

Kevin laughed again. "Okay," he shouted over the noise of the crowd. "'I'll Pick Your Nose' is the good one we heard,–"

A chorus of "ewwws" rang from the crowd.

"–not to say that ya'll's were bad or anything, we just liked that one the most." He turned back to the other two, head tilted into the mike. "All right, guys, the song is 'I'll Pick Your Nose' from the hit musical 'Mucous and Boogers: the Musical.'"

The crowd clapped wildly for the trio.

Kevin walked off into the shadows for a moment, then came back with a stool for Maxie, then took his position on the right side of the Three-headed Broadway Star formation. Bryan stood at the center, Evan on the left; Bryan with his hand on Kevin's right and Evan's left shoulder.

The music started, and so did they.

Kevin Bryan  Evan

"You" "Are" "So"

(snicker) "Beautiful" "To" "Me"

"E, E, E." "I" "Think"

"You" "Love" "To"

"Pick" "Your" "Nose,"

"'Cause" "I" "Love"

"To" "Too." "Boogers"

"Are" "Interesting" "Because"

"Boogers" "Are""Green."

"Your" "Boogers" "Turn"

"Me" ("oh God") "On," "Your"

"Boogers "Are" "Awesome"

"....Yeah." "I" "Imagine"

"Us" "In" "Your"

"Nose" "Picking" "Boogers"

"Together." "Mucous" "Is"

"The" "Best" "And"

"The" "Most" "Romantic"

"Stuff" "In" "The"

"World" "And" "Nose."

"We" "Are" "Like"

"Boogers" "And" "Mucous"

"Because" "We" "Love"

"Each" "Other" "Like"

"Mucous" "And" "Boogers,"

"And" "I" "Love"

"To" "Pick" "Boogers"

"In" "Tights." "Tights!"

"Tights!" "Tiiiights!" "I!"

"Love!" "Mucous!" "And!"

"Boogers! "And!" "I"

"Love" "To" "Pick"

"Your "Wonderful," "Beautiful,"

("Nooooose" "Nooooose" "Nooooose.")

The crowd erupted into loud cheering, clapping furiously for the trio as they stood, smiling delightfully.

The trio had become the classic group at the Three-headed Broadway Star improvisation game–where you had to sing a song one word at a time–ever since they had sang their first one ever together at the Caresica Comedy Bazaar seven years earlier.


	10. Tale 2: Same Here

**Tale 2: Same here**

Seven years before the Battle of Corpagia

5:37 P.M. _Faith_ Cruiser

The planet Caresica never looked more beautiful to Kevin Silliger's eyes. It was the perfect mix of colors: rich, lime-green forests on every continent, gleaming-diamond oceans all over, the poles were a flawless angel-white. Even the black and red volcanic region seemed to fit in perfectly with rest of the planet. The star's beamed their light proudly all around it, encasing the gem of nature in its undying sphere.

But he didn't have time to admire it's full beauty. He only glanced at it for a few mesmerizing moments, then had to turn away, though it was hard. Sighing raspily, he trudged back across the large hangar bay deck, eyes heavy. He picked his footfalls carefully, making sure to dodge all the sharp shards of deck metal that were sticking out of the deformed floor. He didn't forget to step over the nitro-fuel puddle that had spilled from a supply crate, and almost forgot to watch out for the construction droid crossing his path just ahead of the puddle, but managed to stop before getting run over by it.

Tired and weak, Kevin slowly approached Chief Deck Officer Darlow Nihil, who was barking orders at his maintenance crew, droid and being alike, as they hastily repaired two Y-Wings and an X-Wing at one time. "Delivered them sir," Kevin reported as Nihil continued to shout orders. "You want me to do anything else?"

Nihil didn't answer him at first, but instead hammered a nail into the side of a crate, sealing a leak that it had. "Not at the moment, but maybe–Avis watch that current! All right, good job! Maybe later though Lieutenant, so stick around," he finished to Kevin.

Inside, Kevin groaned. He was exhausted. Outside, he instead grinned politely at Nihil. "Yes, sir."

The Shistivan Deck Officer barked another order and walked off towards one of the Y-Wings.

Kevin watched him go for a moment of two, then turned in the opposite direction, spotting his twin brother helping a few tech crew members repair a damaged hardware tug. He was on the top of the flipped contraption, using what looked like a plasma welder to lock down a broken section of the hull. Kevin walked to the side of the tug, where he could only see his brother's thick boot hanging over the edge. The plasma welder burned loudly into the tug. "Hey Evan?!"

The welder continued to burn loudly.

"Evan?!"

It still didn't stop burning.

"EVAN?!"

The welding noise finally stopped, and the boot disappeared onto the top where his brother was and for a moment he thought Evan was done and about to go farther across the hull. But then, his brother's head appeared, welding mask pushed over his scalp. "What? I need to get this done."

"Okay, I just wanna ask a question. You need me to do anything?"

Evan's eyes went towards the back of his head, thinking. He shook his head. "Naw, nothin' I can think of!" he shouted down above all the noise. "Ask Neelix!"

"Okay! Hey, if he doesn't have anything for me to do than I'm goin' to the Lounge to get a drink! You want anything if I go?!"

"Naw, man. Thanks though." His grinned his appreciation then went back to work.

Kevin walked over to where Neelix, the Assistant Deck Officer. When he didn't have anything for Kevin to do, it made the pilot's tongue yearn even more for his favorite drink, a Ballurin Starburst, a tiny bit of water mixed in with tons of Ballurin liquor, the strongest liquor in the galaxy, illegal in some parts of it.

So Kevin walked towards a corridor, now a little more awake in his excitement and relief, and walked out of the active bay. He discovered that his ears were ringing lightly from all the noise, and he still hadn't washed the black from his hands. But he didn't care. His tongue was his only concern.

In no time at all, he was at the bar, giving his order to the bartender, Garkuk Bos'leth. A minute later, he was as refreshed as he had been that morning, plus a whole lot more. Thanking Bos'leth, Kevin made his way out to the last table in front of the giant observation window and sat down, hoping to drink in peace since his ears were still ringing. Plus, it also gave him another opportunity to admire Caresica's beauty once again, this time in silence, instead of the clatter of the hangar bay. He took another graceful sip as he stared out at the planet, and imagined taking a bath in the planet's gleaming oceans, how even more refreshing that would probably be.

Kevin has always enjoyed the wide variety of beauty and sights that the Lounge window had provided in the two years since he had joined the Alliance. From it he had seen countless different worlds and billions of stars. The lighting in this particular part of the Lounge made the experience tantalizing. He took another sip, now starting to relax, from both the view and the drink.

And then it slowly came to an end. First, he felt the _Faith_ maneuver its large bow, feeling his stomach sinking down along with it. It then limped its battered, damaged hulk into the cage-like structure of a _Garut-_class Repair Outpost. Kevin's view of Caresica was interrupted by the appearance of the long, magnetic docking arms of the Outpost.

Sighing in frustration, Kevin finished off his drink slowly, enjoying every last bit of the liquor as he could, then calmly got up. Placing the empty tumbler onto the bar for Bos'leth to take care of, Kevin walked back out of the Lounge, not satisfied at all by his break. The view and the drink had been good, but Kevin had always liked enjoying things at length. He didn't like short instances of relaxation; felt that those moments did nothing to satisfy anybody.

Walking into the turbolift, he suddenly felt his jumpsuit pocket vibrate against his skin, and he realized as he grimaced at the shock of it that he had forgotten to turn his comlink back to "buzz" mode. He removed it quickly from his inside pocket. "Flight Cadet Silliger." Kevin prayed that it wasn't Nihil asking him to do something else.

"Hey Kevin, it's Bryan; I need a favor from you, buddy; umm, Vanessa's been invited to the planet by Admiral Kulav'e'k for a debriefing and she need escorts. You interested at all?"

_No_, he wanted to answer as the turbolift doors shut. _I want to go back to my room and sleep_, he thought as he felt his eyes get a little more heavier. But he knew that wouldn't last long before Nihil had some work for him to do. _So I'd better take what I can get_. "Sure, sir. Who else goin'?"

"Your bother. Managed to con him into this..."

Allowing himself to laugh ever so slightly, Kevin quickly snapped off "Tertiary launch bay" to the computer. The turbolift started moving back up the shaft. He then had a thought. "Do you think Vanessa'll let us have some down time maybe, or could you talk her into _letting_ us have some down time after we're done escorting her? I would really like a break man. I mean, I'm tired, I'm sweating, I'm sure I stink–"

"I'm sure you can Kevin. It's only _her_ debriefing after all. You think you wanna go?"

"Hell yeah, sir!" Kevin exclaimed with excitement. "I'd be glad to; just let me run back to my room first, aight?" He paused to stop the turbolift and send it to deck five, the level his room was on.

Bryan hesitated before answering. "All right, man. Just hurry up. Rawling out."

Kevin set his comlink back to "buzz" mode and returned it to its place in his pocket.

--

Evan Silliger was more than happy right now to get into the cockpit of an A-Wing, small though it was. He still wished he could've had time to freshen up before escorting Captain Hiller to Caresica. Wash his hands, take a shower, get a drink to sooth his dry mouth, do something about his ringing though he didn't know how; that would have been great.

Nevertheless, duty called; even when Evan didn't want it too. So he tried his best to imagine being completely clean and having a Ballurin Starburst washing the desert off his tongue as he strapped on his flight helmet. He set the computer to start running through the final pre-flight checklist, but he scanned the readings every now and then to make sure that nothing had been seriously damaged, because in a ship like an Alliance A-Wing, so much as a simple scratch could cause serious damage to the ship's primary systems. Which is why Evan couldn't figure out how A-Wing pilots seemed to have the highest percentage of survival.

This particular one, and the one sitting to the left of it, hadn't been damaged at all in the skirmish the _Faith _had just come back from. The paint had been chipped off in some areas of the light hull, but other than that the thing was spotless.

Running one small, final diagnostic on the A-Wing's primary systems, Evan's eyes scanned the area for any sign of Hiller and/or his brother, then only for his brother when he saw that there were no _Lambda_-class shuttles in the bay to take Hiller to the surface. _They_ were probably in either the secondary or primary launch bay.

Evan finally saw his brother as he made his way up the small boarding ladder and into the other A-Wing's cockpit. They locked eyes for a moment and grinned in acknowledgment and greeting. Evan noticed that Kevin looked very clean, at least compared to himself, who still yearned for a shower. "Look at you, you slacker!" Evan yelled over to him. "Get to get all fresh and shit while we laborers work hard! What kinda bitch are you?"

Kevin shook his head and began running his own pre-flight checks. "Man–"

"And now you show up here all late lookin' nice and clean...such a slacker...and let me guess, you got a Starburst too didn't you?"

Kevin laughed delightfully.

"Look at you, man!" Evan laughed heartily. "Laughin' like its funny and all good...!"

"Shut up!" Kevin answered, still grinning. "You just salty that's all–that I got to relax and you didn't!"

"Hell yeah I'm salty, bitch! I wanted a drink, I wanted a–!"

"Naw you didn't, I asked you remember?! I said 'you want me to get you a drink?', and you said 'no,' remember?!"

"Yeah well I didn't know we'd need to do this!" Evan countered. "If I had know, then I woulda wanted one–!"

"–Boys!" shouted a high-pitched male voice. It came from Bryan, who Evan noticed was still helping the mechanics fix his X-Wing off to the side of the bay. "Keep it down would you?!" he said, staring at them with piercing green eyes that even the safety goggles he had on couldn't soften. "Use the com!" he finished, going back to his work.

"Sorry, sir!" Kevin said, snapping on his helmet. Now talking in a way in which they didn't have to shout, Kevin calmly muttered, "Salty, salty, salty," through the comlink.

"Fucker. Shut the fuck up," Evan responded.

Kevin started to respond when Evan's com buzzed on another channel. He flipped over to that channel and, as Kevin's voice ceased altogether, said "Ferry One." _Haha_, Evan thought to himself, also thinking of his brother. _I'm the leader again_.

"This is shuttle _Berretia_, Ferry One. We've been cleared to depart. Rendevous at coordinates 533 Mark 2. _Berretia_ out."

Evan switched back to the other channel, his brother still talking to him on it.

"–ter, funnier–"

"The _Berretia_'s launching," Evan interrupted. "Let's go." He nodded down and gave one thumb-up at the deck crew hovering all around his fighter, who began to run around and disconnect all the fuel lines and power cables, and also remove the boarding ladder from the side of the craft. They soon were done and cleared the area.

Evan closed the canopy to the cockpit and pushed the engine's power to its minimal output, and then simultaneously brought the repulsorlift jets online. His A-Wing gently floated up into the air, back-washing the deck with a rush of fumes.

"Wait man, I'm not ready yet," Kevin spoke. He closed his canopy and signaled to the crew, same one as Evan's, and they once again began to do their jobs.

"Well that's what happens when you waste time, man."

"Shut up!"

"Hey, I'm just sayin'....

"Just shut up aight?"

Evan didn't anything more. Better to safe than sorry.

In no time at all, Kevin's A-Wing was off the ground and into the air. The area in front of the two A-Wings was cleared soon after. Evan set his engine power to operational and pushed the throttle forward. The bay was behind him an instant later, and the gentle hum of the engines was wonderful to concentrate on instead of the ringing in his ears. His brother's ship beside him, Evan calmly changed course towards where the _Berretia_ was–having launched from the primary bay–and rendezvoused with it.


	11. Tale 2: Part 2

10:11 P.M. _Faith _Cruiser

"What is it? Improv? Are you kidding me, I can't do improv," Maxie whined from her standing position, leaning over the small kitchen sink.

"Oh, I'm sure you can, it's not hard," Bryan answered, sitting on one of the beds in the next room, able to clearly see the disdain in her expression.

"Yeah, Max, it ain't hard at all," Evan said, he and Kevin sitting next to each other on the other bed, Kevin laying his head against the bulkhead, Evan sitting, legs shoulder-width apart.

"Yeah it is," Maxie answered. For a moment she looked like she was going to say something else, but then closed her mouth, shook her head and continued scrubbing. "No."

Bryan sighed sadly. While the twins were on their downtime on Caresica's surface, they had entered themselves into the local talent competition. They were going to do a comedy routine; and had chosen to do the "ancient art"–in Bryan's book–of improvisation. Improv was the premiere group comedy act that had been very popular at the turn of the twenty-first century but had definitely fallen out of contention and popularity in the years since. Bryan had to commend the two to be so bold as to try something that most people hadn't seen in a long time.

"Come on Max," Kevin pleaded. "You the only girl we know that's random enough to do this. Every other girl on this ship is stupid.'"

"Hey," Maxie snapped, aiming the scrubber at him. "Watch your mouth. Some of those 'stupid' girls are my friends." She put the plate she was working on into the sink, and began scrubbing another one. "And what do you mean I'm 'random enough?'"

Evan grinned a toothy smile. "Your random. I mean, it's kinda self-explanatory. Your funny, you shout a lot, you got _the_ weirdest stories I've ever heard, you dance at random times...you just...random. I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, but..."

"That's not fair, I'm not _that_ random." She looked up for a moment. "Bryan, am I random?"

Bryan was caught aghast by that question, hoping that they wouldn't involve in that particular argument. Mind racing for a diplomatic answer to the question, Bryan decided to poke some fun at her to ease the tension in the room. "Hey Maxie, this is not about what _I_ think, okay, its about–"

Maxie gaped in shock at him. "What? I'm NOT random!"

Kevin and Evan burst into laughter at the wild look on her face.

Bryan broke out into a laugh a second later. "What? I didn't say that at all," he said through his laughter. "Did I?" he asked jokingly to the twins.

"Naw man," Evan said, grinning wildly. He extended his hand, and Bryan answered a clap handshake. "Not at all." Then they both turned their gaze back to their favorite woman.

She shook her head and turned back to the sink, scrubbing a lot harder now because of her attitude. "Damn. Bunch of fuckers," she muttered.

The other three chuckled and let the joke pass over. "Seriously though Maxie," Kevin continued. "You're a funny girl, random or no and we want you to be part of the group. I think we'd make a good team if we worked together and tried."

"No," Maxie said again. "I don' wanna do it."

"Come on," Kevin tried again. "We need style. And attitude. I mean we provide the comedy, yeah, and Bryan..." he gestured to Bryan and for a moment didn't know to say, causing Bryan to raise an eyebrow. "Bryan's just...Bryan."

Bryan fixed him with a sour expression.

Evan laughed and Kevin turned his gaze from Bryan to Maxie. "But you, you're...unique, and hilarious. You're a perfect improvisor."

"No I'm not," Maxie said, staying strong. "Forget it Kevin. I'm not joining your improv group. I'm sorry but...no."

"Please Maxie," Bryan started up now. "It'd be something for us all to do, like a family thing almost."

"Yeah. Come on," Evan added. "Be a part of the family for once. You never do anything with us."

"Yes I do," she countered, looking up from the sink. "We–we fly together, we go to Lounge every other night together." Her eyes suddenly seem to come alive. "Hell we _live_ together, and that's definitely enough for me."

"Yeah, I'll give her that," Bryan admitted. "That's a—good point."

"Yeah, but that wasn't our choice. They put us together–listen, would you at least try it out with us in the first round. Please? We need a fourth person. Just one round to see if you don't like it."

"NO!" Maxie answered sharply. "I _don't_ want to. Find someone else. There are plenty of people on this ship who're funny—Cael, Cael's a funny guy. And so is–"

Evan smacked his lips. "Man, Cael's lamer than Bryan."

"–Frer'por. He's hilarious–"

Bryan gave Evan the same sour look he gave Kevin.

"–use him."

"We need a girl," Bryan insisted.

Maxie was now starting to toss her hands in the air, almost like an Italian. "Then get a girl! God, you guys, it's not that hard! Just not me!"

"Please Maxie? Just try it! Please?!" Bryan begged.

"NO! Guys, stop asking me. I DON'T WANT TO DO IT!"

Bryan put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I give up. You win. Let's just find someone else guys."

Kevin sighed in exhaustion. "Fine."

Evan just shook his head. "You suck Maxie."

"Fuck you," Maxie said off-hand. She finished the last dish in the sink and pulled the drain switch. As the soap and water started twisting its way down the drain, Maxie wiped off her hands with a rag. "Good," she muttered to no one in particular. "At least they got _that_ working again."

"Yeah, so?" Bryan said quickly, not looking up at her at all.

"Shut up!" Maxie spat at him, though he knew she was exaggerating her angry mood on purpose to poke fun at the boys. She hopped up the ladder to the bunk above Bryan and lay down on it.

"All right boys," Bryan said to the twins. "How much time do we get to find a fourth person?"

"First round's at twelve noon tomorrow at the Bares Amphitheater," Evan answered.

"And what time is it now?" Bryan gazed down at his watch. "10:14 P.M. Eh, we got some time."

"It's aight, though, if we can't find a fourth person, 'cause we can do it with three–"

"But you can't do improv with an odd number of people–"

"–yeah–"

"–I mean, it just doesn't feel...right, you know?"

"Yeah, man" Kevin agreed. "I know whatcha mean. Who you think we should ask, though?"

"I dunno," Bryan answered. "Dassa Frull is a funny girl, except that her stage fright is larger than this ship prolly."

"Naw, she's no good," Evan agreed.

Bryan's expression remained neutral, though he didn't quite agree that Dassa Frull was completely "no good."

"What about Ciss? She can be funny sometimes?" Kevin suggested.

"She's on leave," Bryan told them. "Dropped her off back at Beru IV. Pickin' her up when we go back."

"Damn," Evan responded.

"What are some other suggestions, Maxie?" Bryan asked, looking up as far as his eyes would let him.

It took her a few seconds to reply. "I don't know," she said with a tired voice. "Try Muretta. Or maybe Dominique."

"'Ey," Kevin said loudly. His eyes were racing around in thought, and a smile was starting to form on his face. His bright eyes fell on Bryan. "What about Vanessa?"

"Vanessa _Hiller_?" Bryan asked, thinking the idea was crazy. "_Our_ Vanessa Hiller?"

"Yeah," Kevin answered. "The Captain."

Bryan snickered. "Why would _she_ want to do this? Assuming, of course, that she has time to?"

"I don' know," Kevin shrugged. "I'm jus' sayin' maybe."

Just then, the perfect person came to mind, and it hit Bryan like a stroke of brilliance. "Rosy!" He shouted. "What about Rosy? She's almost exactly like Maxie up here!" he exclaimed, pointing up at Maxie.

Rosy Barnum had been Bryan's girlfriend for the past two-and-a-half years on the _Faith_. They loved each other very much,–"a little annoyingly" too much according to the twins–and had been the only successful, constant love relationship to date on the ship. They spent at least two hours with each other everyday in those past two years–except those few instances where one was away on a mission without the other, in which case the one on board the ship would complain and complain until the other one came back.

However, for as long as the relationship had gone on, the two had never had sex, never really made out, and all their alone time spent together was in each other's arms, doing basically nothing but talking and enjoying each others company; the only clue anyone would have that they were boyfriend and girlfriend were the small kisses they exchanged sometimes; a conservative relationship for the most part. Neither of them had ever explained why. "Hey, yeah," Evan said with a newfound excitement. "She and Maxie act like twins. That's perfect, man." He clapped hands with Bryan. "Perfect. 'Eah, we could do a good impersonation of _Will & Grace, _you know, Bryan?"

Bryan sneered at him. "I'm not gay! We just love each other so much we don't need to show it."

Evan nodded and laughed. "Right man, right." He and his brother exchanged humorous glances, then laughed a little harder.

Bryan just smacked his lips at them, then got back on topic. "So Rosy it is. Good."

They all suddenly heard Maxie giggle from the top bunk, and all eyes swung in that direction.

"What?" Bryan said with a embarrassed chuckle. "So it took us a long time, who cares we-we-we finally figured it out."

Maxie continued to laugh and then glanced at her watch. "Yeah, it took you boys seven minutes and forty seconds to realize Rosy."

"Aw shut up!" Bryan retorted. He and the twins each grabbed a pillow and threw it up at her, and the pillows collided into her with three distinct "pounds."

"So Rosy it is?" Bryan asked again, looking to the twins assurance of that. "Final vote?"

"Yeah," Evan said, sitting back into the bunk.

Bryan's eyes looked over to the left. "Kevin?"

Kevin Silliger sighed hesitantly.

"Do you want Rosy?" Bryan asked.

"Well yeah, she's good and all, but I'd still prefer Cap'n Hiller, only because I think it'd be cool to see a Cap'n havin' fun, you know? I mean, everybody knows the pilots like to have fun." he snickered. "We're the most controversial people in the entire Rebel Alliance, man." He laughed. "I think it'd be cool to see and like, show people that some of the Cap'n's know how to have fun too, instead of being like the uptight, camel-toed–uh—sons-of-a-bitches that everyone thinks they are."

Bryan snickered slightly. "Camel-toed?"

Kevin smiled. "Yeah. Hell, they all gotta have one. Got those Shakespeare stares on their faces all the time." He contracted his facial muscles into a neutral, stone-faced expression, eyes looking off into the distance somewhere–apparently what he thought the expression on the Captain's face always was. And it was funny-looking for the most part.

Bryan allowed himself to laugh at the face, then considered what Kevin had said about Hiller. "Okay, we'll ask her first. If she––and-and try to convince her also if she says 'no' at first––if she says 'no' anyway then we'll go to Rosy, and hopefully she can do it if Hiller can't. All right?"

Kevin bopped his head once. "Fine with me, Commander."

Bryan smiled. "All right. Good. So we all satisfied here?"

The twins both nodded.

"–yeah."

"–uh-huh."

"Good." He looked up again. "What do you think Maxie? Think we'll go far?"

Maxie let out a low snort. "I hope so," she said softly into the mattress.

"Really?" Bryan said in surprise.

"Yeah, now leave me alone. I'm tired."

Bryan fixed her with a strange look but did leave her alone.


	12. Tale 2: Part 3

1:43 P.M. Bares Amphitheater; Snara City; Caresica

Maxie laughed lightly, and sat back in her chair, eyes locked on her three roommates on stage. She'd been sitting there for the last ten minutes, watching them and Rosy do their little improv group. It had, for the most part, gone well, except for a few instances where nobody understood any of the jokes, but that had only happened twice so far. The most recent game they were playing was Freeze, which was, according to Bryan, the "classic" improv game where two people started out a random scene, and as the game went on, the other people would, at random times, call "freeze!" When that happened, that person would tap one of the performers on the shoulder. That performer would leave, and the other person would take his or her's place. It looked like a fun game to play and it _was_ entertaining, though Maxie had to admit to herself: she actually sort of wanted to play now, too. She had had some good scene ideas for the game.

On stage, she heard Evan shout "Freeze!" Smiling, he bounded onto the center stage and tapped Kevin on the shoulder. Kevin unfroze and went off of center stage and Evan took his spot, imitating him in exactly how he was positioned: arms at his side, angled like a robot's, and left foot a little distance from his left shoulder, right foot at his shoulder. "So how do you like my Elvis impression?" he asked to Bryan.

"Will you stop that?" Bryan responded. "For the last time, we're at a _Star Wars_ convention, not a Elvis impersonation barbeque!"

"What?! We are?! But the sign said–"

(Groan) "For the last time, that was a road sign on a highway for a _town_ called Elvis, not Elvis Presley."

"Oh." A pause. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure you idiot. Now come with me." Lowering voice: "That Leia over there looks pretty hot. Help me hook up with her."

"Ok." Raising voice: "Hey hot, hottie Princess Leia, my friend here thinks your hot!"

Maxie allowed herself another laugh, along with a good portion of the crowd.

"What the hell are you doing?! Don't do that! I want to take it a little slower then shouting at her!"

"Fine then, I will. Hey cutie! How you doin'?!"

"Freeze!" Rosy shouted.

But Bryan indicated to her that this game was finished, and he and Evan were allowed themselves a laugh before Evan walked up to the microphone. The crowd cheered ravenously as the game ended.

"All right," Evan said into the microphone. "Thank you guys. We only got a few minutes left so we're gonna do a quick game of Movie and Theater styles." He turned to the other three. "Who wants to write those down?"

"I'll do it," Kevin volunteered. "I'm pretty bad at this game."

The group exchanged gentle laughter.

"All right then," Evan said. "Go get the paper and pencil and write down the styles they want." He turned back to the audience. "All right, what we need from you guys is a bunch of different theater and movie styles for them to implement into the game. So start shoutin' those out..."

The crowd released a pandemonium of movies and theater styles. "–Shakespeare!"–"_Garqui and Magic Knights of Firewer_!"–"_Lord of the Rings_!"–"_Salisbury Steak and the Sun_!–"

Evan laughed and pointed that idea at Kevin. "_Salisbury Steak and the Sun _Kevin! Put that one down for sure!"

"Okay!"

Maxie whispered something to the two people she was with, Dassa Frull and, by her own request, Vanessa Hiller. She whispered the same two words to them both. They both smiled at the idea, and Maxie beckoned them all to stand up. Together, the three combined their voices and shouted "_Napoleon Dynamite_!"

Evan laughed at that and redirected to Kevin.

"–_Spaceballs 2_!–" "–_Haunted Darkness_!–" "–_That's Very Good_!–" "–_James_ _Bond: Operation Crow's Nest_!–"

"Okay, okay, we got it all. We're done," Evan, turning towards his brother. "Kevin, what do you got?"

Kevin read the list off. "_Salisbury Steak and the Sun_, _Napoleon Dynamite_, _The Life of Poppy Ponytails_, and _Calburn: Son of Fire_."

"Aight, nice. I think that's a good list for now. Let's start." He turned to the audience. "Now what's going to happen, we're gonna start a scene. Kevin'll let the scene develop, then he'll tell us to stop at random times and pick one of those styles that ya'll named. Then we, the actors have to put those styles into our scene somehow—it's kinda hard to explain. Okay, anyway, we now need from you just a random scene and a random place where we do the scene..."

"–Mars–!"

"–In the middle of a battle–!"

"–The bedroom–"

"–A food fight–!"

"–The Imperial Senate–!"

"–A prison for–!"

Evan chuckled and pointed to a portion of the audience. "I heard 'Imperial Senate!' Good one! That's what we'll do!"

The crowd cheered at the results, and Maxie waited in excitement for _that_ scene to begin. No telling how the boys and Rosy would tackle this one.

"Okay guys. Kevin stand over there. The scene is the Imperial Senate." He moved the microphone stand off to the side of the stage.

Bryan started, hunched over and speaking in a low, dark voice. "'Are we all here?'" he asked slowly. He was impersonating the Senate's Moderator, the 87-year old Donald Freemont.

The crowd laughed at the impersonation.

"'Yes you old hack, we are,'" Evan answered, speaking in a deep but young voice, and standing up tall, chest out.

Maxie instantly recognized Evan as being Senator Kalus Pordonet, representing the planet Urvador VII. He was, by far, the nicest looking senator of them all. Maxie would kill him instantly if she ever saw him, but that didn't stop her from wanting him.

Evan strode forward, chest still high, right shoulder out, expression seductive. Yes, he was black and Kalus was white, but it still was a relatively good impersonation. "'Hello ladies!'" he said. "'I want to cheat on my wife tonight.'" He lowered his voice to be very naughty and seductive. "'Who wants to join me?'"

The crowd "oooooo"'d and cheered their support.

"'Man or woman.'" Evan finished.

The crowd "oooooooo"'d louder and cheered more deafly. Some stood up, and some raised their glasses to him. Maxie raised her glass, Dassa stood up, and Vanessa just sat back and smiled.

"'Bukbukbuk baaucck!'" Rosy suddenly squawked from behind the other two, wrist resting against her chin, fingers sticking out like a beak. "'Buk buk buk buk bik book buk baaauck!'" Her mouth was wide open as she did this, and ended each "sentence" sharply. She was supposed to be Senator Pac'acca Siwuuriad, the only bird-like Senator from the planet Isiludar.

The crowd laughed extravagantly at the imitation, now loving every second of the trio's improv. As was Maxie, Vanessa, and Dassa.

"'Senator Siwuuriad,'" Bryan said in his old voice. "'I must ask you to calm down please. The universal translator is broken again and this arena, its...large.'"

Rosy marched up to him, moving her arms up and down like wings. "'Buk buk buk buk bukaaaaaauck!'" She slapped Bryan on the left shoulder.

"'Don't worry, I'll save you!'" Evan shouted heroically as Kalus. He stalked over to the other and gently shoved Bryan away. "'Get away from her fiend! Don't ever tell a beautiful lady like her what to do you old–––man.'"

The crowd laughed again.

"Freeze," Kevin said. He scanned the list. "_The Life of Poppy Ponytails._"

Evan lowered his proud shoulders and started to scream loudly and for a long time. This imitation was Poppy Ponytails himself. The movie he came from was based off of a children's story about a little boy known as Poppy Ponytails, who always wore his hair in a ponytail and screamed almost every minute of the day, and was treated very badly by the other children because of his "condition." The moral ended up being about why it's wrong to treat people differently no matter how weird or different they are. The movie had been a big hit in all parts of the Known Galaxy because of its uniqueness, like Poppy Ponytails himself was unique.

The crowd laughed again.

Bryan walked over to Evan and started screaming in his face. "'Stop it! Stop screaming! Not in the Senate chamber! You freak!'" He was now Timmy Twoface, Poppy's main bully in the class. "I hate you!"

"'Now Donald," Rosy said, approaching "Timmy" with a kind, graceful, proper walk. "That's not very nice. We must all be able to accept people for who they are, not by what they do or how strange they may seem.'" Her soft and comforting voice and calm manner indicated to the humored audience that she was Mrs. Heather Heartgold, the teacher of the class Poppy was in, who was sympathetic to him. "'God blessed Moderator Freemont with a gift,'"–the story was Christian in some parts of it–"'the gift of dying old.'"

The audience laughed mildly.

"'Unlike me possibly,'" Rosy continued as Heather Heartgold, "'who might be shot and executed tomorrow for boring the hell out of...'"(sigh) "'everyone.'"

Another round of laughter.

Bryan pouted. "'Okay, Mrs. Heartgol–'" he snickered–"'Senator Siwuuriad.'"

Evan walked up to the two and screamed louder into their faces, smiling.

Rosy sighed warmly. "'Oh Poppy, your gift is so...beautiful.'"

Evan continued to wail.

"Freeze," Kevin said again. "_Napoleon Dynamite._"

Bryan hunched over his shoulders, opened his mouth a little distance, and squinted his eyes, immediately characterizing himself as the famous Napoleon Dynamite, a classic, hilarious, weird high school character created in a self-titled movie back at the turn of twenty-first century. It had been popular amongst the high schools kids of that era, which included Bryan, Maxie, Vanessa, and Rosy as well as half the people in the room at the time. Now, years later, it was still a popular movie, especially amongst the Pilot Corps. "'Gosh, frickin' idiot!'" he shouted in a very, very raspy voice at Evan. The look on his face remained dead and neutral. "'I'm never votin' for you ever again!'"

Evan sunk his shoulders, and put a blank expression with empty eyes on his face. "'I'm sorry Donald,'" he responded with a Mexican accent, imitating Napoleon's best friend and partner Pedro who was just as bland and strange as Napoleon. "'I was just practicing for the Preston Talent Competition. I was trying to sound like the La Chupacabra. I think I can win the competition with it. What do you think?'"

The audience laughed again.

"'It rocked. You gonna win by a mile, dude,'" Bryan answered. "'Hey, wanna play me?'" he asked, referring to Napoleon's love for the game of tether ball.

Maxie let out a snicker at that.

"'Sure,'" Evan replied.

"'Hang on a minute,'" Bryan answered. He mimed picking up what appeared, to Maxie, to be a box. His other hand appeared to be wrapped around the handle of an object. He took two steps in the opposite direction, dipped a mimed scoop–that's what that left hand was holding–into the box, and then flicked whatever was in the scoop at something in front of him. "'Come on Emperor Palpatine, eat your frickin' dinner!'"

Maxie joined the rest of the crowd in laughing hysterically at this. He had just compared the Empire's ruler, Emperor Palpatine, to a lama. The lama's name in _Napoleon Dynamite_ was Tina, and she was owned by Napoleon's grandmother and never ate the food Napoleon always tried to give her. So he would often resort to tossing it at the animal.

Bryan continued to pantomime reaching into the tin of food and tossing over the imaginary fence. "'Eat the food! Eat the food!'" he repeated over and over again as the audience continued to laugh.

"'H-hey Donald,'" Rosy said. She stood, legs together, shoulder's tightly knit. Her voice was light, and she spoke quickly but in a soft, quiet tone. She was Deb, Napoleon's and Pedro's other friend, who always had her hair tied up in a side-of-her-head ponytail and loved to take colorful and pretty photographs. "'Would you like to buy some more accessaries from me? I-I have new bracelets now. Very pretty and cheap like they always are.'"

"Freeze. Okay guys, the judges are giving us the evil eye," Kevin snickered. "I think we better stop."

The three improvisors broke their characters instantly. The crowd roared fiercely and "whooped." One stood up, then two, then seven; soon enough, they were getting a standing ovation from the crowd, including Maxie, Dassa, and Vanessa. Bryan, Kevin, Evan, and Rosy took their bows all at the same time, then energetically walked off the stage, excited and happy, and took their seats in the last three seats of the right side first row. They were the last act of the first round, and everybody in the audience loved them.

But the judges still had to decide if they did well enough to move on to the next round. The judging was next.


	13. Tale 2: Part 4

Two days later: 6:49 P.M. Same place

Kevin Silliger could not stop looking at the judges with absolute fury. He could barely see them to glare at them, but he knew where their chairs were so he knew where to look. He was furious. Absolutely furious.

The crowd had given his improv group a standing ovation at the end of the first round–and the second round and had loved the group's successful attempt at improv. Kevin had been completely overjoyed by every crowd's reaction to him and his friends, and had enjoyed his time in this competition. But those judges had almost ended it after the first round. They had passed them by only one point–one point! The act before them, a Lorvorian singer who missed three notes, passed by more than twenty. The improv group got a _standing ovation_! And the judges had only passed them by one point.

Then the second round came yesterday. It went well, and another standing ovation from the crowd. And the judges hadn't passed them into the next round–and they had passed that Lorvorian singer, who missed two notes in the second verse of his song. The crowd, being ever faithful, had managed to "boo!" the judges into changing their minds, after a lengthy five minutes.

He really hated those judges now.

But he was confident now. He, Evan, Bryan, and Rosy had been brainstorming until 2 A.M. last night, thinking of an out-of-this-world final act that even the judges wouldn't be able to deny. He hoped anyway.

The Lorvorian singer was again before them on stage right now, and he had just missed yet another note in his song. Yet the judges loved him....maybe it was a racial issue....

The Lorvorian singer finished the song with a high, flat note, and abruptly cut off his last word's consonant. A few people clapped, but a majority stayed silent.

The announcer came up, thanked the Lorvorian,–some guy named Calavar or something–asked for another round of applause for him, then let him sit back down in his seat. He then called up the last act before the improv group: a stand-up human comic from the Badar II colony.

Next to Kevin, Evan grunted. "Man, why are we _always_ last?" he snapped in a whisper.

"Man, who knows," Kevin responded.

Rosy shrugged. "Maybe they want to keep the best for last?"

Evan grunted again. "Naw. Those judges don't give a shit about us so why would they put us last? They don' think we're worth shit."

"They're racist," Bryan said with a stone pitch, looking on stage, and not at any one of them. "Yeah, seriously," Evan joked.

"I wasn't kidding."

The other three stared in shock.

"–What?–"

"–Huh?–"

"–What?–"

"It's true, I'm sure."

"How do you know?" Kevin asked.

"You know the woman judge that sits in the middle up there?"

"Yeah," Kevin answered. "She's the Surkosian bitch that always gives the evil eye at us. To tell us to stop."

"Yeah well, she called me last night while I was at the Lounge. It was after you guys had all left to go to bed. I don't know how she knew I was alone, but she called me right after you all left." He took a breath and continued. "Anyway, she offered to give me 150 rebs if I dropped us out of the competition. So I told her to fuck off."

Evan groaned in disgust.

Kevin looked in even more shock at Bryan. "What the fuck?!" he whispered fiercely.

Rosy was gaping. "Are you serious?"

Bryan nodded at no one. "Yup. But listen, there's more. Before I told her to fuck off, she explained to me why she was offering. You see, guys, this competition has a history of being terrible. Everytime they hold it, all they–all they–all they get is bad acts. The audience never really likes anybody." He leaned towards Rosy, who might have been the only person in the group who would know what he next sentence meant. "It's kinda like _American Idol_ only where the contestants are all William Hung."

Rosy snickered humorously.

"Anyway, the audience never really likes anybody. Until _we_ came. So far, in the last––I think she said eleven years, we are the first act ever to one: do improv, two: actually impress the audience and the judges. But that's not the problem. The problem is this, and I quote from her exact words, 'I'll be damned before I ever give one-hundred rebs to a group that's lead by coloreds.'" He turned his head slowly at the twins. "And that's when I told her to fuck off."

Evan's face turned stern in furious anger. His hands gripped the life out of his armrests, and his eyes lit ablaze, a fire against the room's dimness.

His brother hoisted himself halfway out of his chair, his expression the same as Evans', before Bryan reacted and grabbed a handful of his clothes, keeping him from rising completely out of his chair and drawing attention to himself.

Bryan could tell just by looking at Kevin's blazing eyes–and Evan's–that he wanted to kill that judge. Literally kill her. But that surely bode well to the twin's future. So Bryan sat him back down, though he got noticed enough so that a murmur escalated from part of the crowd. Not looking back–but wanting to–at the judge's table, he pulled Kevin's ear close to his mouth. "Don't Kevin!" he whispered fiercely. "That won't help us very much." He released him and let him fall back into his chair, Kevin's eyes still glaring behind him. "You'll only be helping her. Believe me, the greatest harm you could do to her will never be more enjoyable than _forcing_ her to give you those one hundred rebs to you by winning this competition. We've got the audience's support and, boy, we are damn good!" He smiled proudly at him. "We will win this, and then we can laugh in that bitches face all we want. All right?"

Kevin still glared over at her, eyes now appearing to be tearing up, wet and red, though Bryan could hardly tell in this light. Maybe it was just a reflection. It did look real though. But he calmed down, breath eventually returning to a safe and non-want-to-kill level.

"It'll be all right man," Bryan said confidently. "We'll get 'em."

Kevin finally looked at him. It took a moment of hesitation, but he finally nodded, and then turned to face forward.

Satisfied, so did Bryan. Until Rosy tapped him on the arm. Leaning towards her–something he always loved to do–he said. "What?"

"I can't believe they would do that," she said with respite.

Bryan shrugged. "Their bitches, what more can I say? She also said she spoke for every one of those judges and I believe her. But I'm not tellin' them that," he told her, referring to the twins.

"Hmmph," Rosy sounded.

On stage, the comic was just finishing up his bad stand-up act, and got a mild clap from what sounded like only ten people in the crowd. The announcer did the same routine with the comic as he had done with the Lorvorian–thanked him, all that stuff–and practically shooed him off the stage, then called up the final act––the improv group.

"Don't let it get to you guys," Bryan whispered to the twins as they all stood up. "Just go up there and do as good as you've done for the last two days."

So the crowd roared excitedly, and they marched up onto the stage. Again, they planned to do three acts. The first, of course, was Freeze, and the second was Question's Only. When that was done, the third was going to be the traditional third, Movie and Theater Styles, but Bryan decided to change that at the last moment, and it was he instead of Evan that walked up to the microphone at the end of Questions Only.

"Excuse me Evan, excuse me everybody. I've decided, if it's all right with the group, that I'd like us to try another kind of improv game besides Movie and Theater Styles. It's called Three-Headed Broadway Star. In it, we have to–me, Kevin, and Evan have to be a mysterious three-headed Broadway Star–Broadway is a place in New York City on Earth where theater is big, and musicals are even bigger–and what we do in this game is me, Kevin and Evan sing a song to Rosy, one word at a time. And what I need now is the name of a fake famous Broadway show..."

The audience started shouted many different names of many different fake musicals until Bryan singled out one and chose it. "I heard 'Tongue Fungus: A Sad Musical.' Good one guy. Okay, now I need the name of the hit love song from that musical..."

More shouts, and this time it was Kevin who singled out a good one. "'Green Taste Buds!'" he shouted to Bryan.

Bryan laughed and announced that to the audience. They laughed and "ewwwww"'d but supported it nonetheless. He then noticed Rosy jumping down the stairs off the stage. Confused, he called after her, but she didn't stop. Until she reached Maxie's table, and, grabbing her arm, tried to make her stand up. Maxie resisted, also confused, and the two exchanged words that got some laughs from the audience. At last, Maxie allowed Rosy to pull her out of her chair and they both ran back on stage. "What's going on?" Bryan asked.

"Your going to sing to both of us," Rosy said into the mike. "Hey everyone, this is Maxie from the _Faith_. They all tried to talk her into joining the group, but she wouldn't." She grinned at Maxie. "But she told me last night that she was sorry she didn't join. Because she said it looked fun. So now they're going to sing to her now too."

The crowd cheered, and some "awwww"'d adoringly. Rosy went off and grabbed two stools from offstage and brought them into the light, and the two woman sat on them.

Bryan grinned into the mike. "Okay guys, here we go. The song is 'Green Taste Buds' from 'Tongue Fungus: A Sad Musical.'" He set the mike stand off stage and took his position in the Three-Headed Broadway Star formation–in the middle, Kevin to his right, Evan to his left. "We need love song music, if you have any," he told the pianist.

The pianist searched through his stack of books and picked one, opening it and placing it in front of him. He positioned his hands over the piano keys and nodded to Bryan. And so the music started.

Kevin Bryan Evan

"Green" "Taste" "Buds"

"Are""Fungus." "I"

"Love""To" "Kiss"

"You""With" "My"

"Green,""Fungus-filled" "Tongue."

"When""I" "Look"

"At""You" "I"

"Have""To" "Drool"

"Be-cause""I" "Love"

"You.""And" "That's"

"Be-cause""My" "French-kissing"

"Tongue""Is" "Green"

"And" "Yours" "Is"

"Yell-ow." "You" "Are"

"De-li-cious," "You" "Are"

"Tas-ty,""You" "Have"

"Things,""You" "Love

"Green,"(snicker)"You" "You"

"Me""You," "I"

"Love""You" "And"

"You," ....."You" "Love"

"Me" "Too." "Feeling"

"Your""Tongue" "On"

"My""Fingernails" "Makes"

"Me""Want" "To"

"Kiss""Your "Little,"

.."Little,""Fungus-infect-ed" "Ass."

"If""I" "Ever"

"Look""At""You"

"Without""Any""Green"

"On""My" "TooooooOOooongue,"

"I""Hope""You"

"Beat""My""Ass"

"Into""The""Floor."

"Maybe""Someday""We'll"

"Kiss""With""Fungus"

"Again,""I""Hope."

"But unti–"(snicker) (snicker) "Until""That"

"Day""Comes""I"

"Dream""Of""Feeling"

"Your""Fungus-infected""Tongue"

"On""Meeeeeeee" (bass voice) "Babyyyyy."

The crowd roared in excitement and joy. Once again, they stood and gave the three singers a standing ovation. They parted from each other, beaming brightly out at the crowd. The audience continued to applaud and "whoop" and clap loudly, still standing too.

Rosy and Maxie jumped up from their stools energetically, "whooo"ing and clapping their hands over their heads. Bryan moved forward behind Rosy, grabbed her and picked her up in his arms. She yelped in surprise, then wrapped her arms around his neck lovingly.

Bryan smiled at her pretty face. "That song was about us, you know?"

She giggled. "Yeah."

He leaned in to kiss her. "Good job."

She touched lips with him. "Thanks. You too."

He set her down easy, and all five of them–including Maxie–took their earned bows.

The announcer came back up to the stage again, grabbed the mike stand, and moved it back on stage. He then thanked the group and called all the other acts up to the stage. They trudged, defeated, one after the other, lining up around Kevin, Evan, Rosy, Maxie, and Bryan. The announcer asked for a round of applause for every one of the acts, which the audience did with spectacular energy, though the improv group knew who they were _really_ clapping more: them.

Then the announcer turned it over to the judges, who abruptly stood, the Surkosian racist woman in the center of the six. And it was as they all were standing up that Bryan realized a startling fact: five of the judges were all Surkosian. Only the judge on the left end was different, a Lorvorian. Bryan couldn't figure out why he hadn't noticed this before, but than that question was answered: the lighting in the room was brighter than it had been for the other two rounds. Now he could see them just fine, their white skin glowing somewhat in the enhanced lighting.

Bryan leaned towards Kevin. "Is this some kind of Surkosian colony you think?"

Kevin hesitated. "Who knows, man."

"Judges," the human announcer said. "I think you know the audiences opinion. Whom do you choose to win this competition?"

This time the crowd made their choice very apparent. First, a majority of them pointed to the four improvisors. Then, the crowd all started chanting "Improv! Improv! Improv!" over and over again, prompting gracious smiles from the four and Maxie. The audience turned to all the judges and chanted at them, pumping their fists with every "Improv!"

The five Surkosians exchanged glances with each other while the Lorvorian judge smiled brightly down at the group. As the crowd continued to chant, the judges stood still, hands clasped either in front or in back of them, faces in a stone cold expression. They waited patiently for the crowd's chanting to subside. But it didn't. They continued to chant, and Bryan, Evan, Kevin, Rosy, and Maxie had no intention of stopping them.

Bryan clasped his hands in front of him, imitating the woman Surkosian. He gestured for all the rest to imitate her too. They did, Kevin and Evan with the most serious confidence.

The woman picked up her microphone and spoke. "Please calm down, we are going to make our judgement now. Please quiet down." Her voice sounded as if a toad was trying to talk.

But the crowd didn't stop. They kept up their fierceness even through her announcement.

"Please quiet down!" She repeated more fiercely. "If you do not–!" The male Surkosian to her left drew her close and whispered something into her ear, not heard by anyone else. She smiled deviously for a split-second then returned to her microphone. "Very well then," she said. "Since you will not be quiet as I have asked you to, I hereby disqualify the _Faith_ Improv Group from this competition."

And that was when things got ugly. The crowd "boooo!"-ed louder than ever. Many started throwing their drink glasses towards the judging table, causing all six of them to jump back hysterically in surprise and alarm. Luckily for the judges, that's basically all the audience could do. The judging table was hoisted on a terrace far up from the crowd, with only private access to it. So they continued to throw their bottles and glasses, but it wasn't going to do much.

Kevin stepped forward, and took the mike gently from the announcers hand; anxious, angry, and excited. "Disqualify us? For what, standing here you racist little bitch? Bryan told us what you offered him. Listen up ya'll," he said to the audience. He then gestured Evan to come over to him and when Evan did, he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder. "She offered Bryan over there 150 rebs, in cash, if he forfeited our act from the competition. What do ya'll say to that?!"

The crowd "boooo!"-ed and "noooooo!"-ed louder and fiercer than before. Now more began to throw their drinks at the judges.

"She's racist!" Kevin blurted out. "That's why we barely made it this far, 'cause they were all holdin' us back 'cause their racist towards black people!" He turned to Bryan. "What was her exact words again, Bryan?" He pulled his brother away from the mike. "Come and tell 'em."

Bryan walked to the microphone and spoke. "'I'll be damned before I give one-hundred rebs to a group lead by two coloreds.' Her exact words."

Same reaction from the crowd, only more violent.

Evan then leaned into the microphone. "I think the audience has chosen. I'd like my one-hundred rebs please," he addressed the stunned judges.

Now they "yeahhhhhhh!"-ed and cheered Evan on. The chanting now changed from "Improv! Improv!" to "Rebs! Rebs! Rebs!" and so on and so forth.

Then something surprising and caring happened. The bad Lorvorian singer that was on the groups right walked over to the mike stand and tapped Evan on the shoulder. He then proceeded to place three rebs in the twin's hand. The white-skinned Lorvorian clapped Evan on the shoulder and then shook he and his brother's hands' in praise. "'Ery gooed joob, biys," he said in his best English.

Evan smiled happily at the singer and gave him a back-clapping hug. "Thanks man. You did good too, though. Up here lookin' like a superstar. I thought Frank Sinatra was up singin' man, you were so good."

The Lorvorian smiled, a little confused but merry nonetheless. "Thank you." he then stepped back into his place in line.

Bryan smiled at this, but then his attention was driven away from it by some guy in the front row calling to him, "Hey?! Hey?! Bryan?!" Bryan looked over at him, and the human man gestured for him to come, so he did. The man extended his hand out to the pilot, and the pilot extended his hand out to the man, so the man could drop four rebs into it. Bryan stared in awe and shock at the amount of money in his hand, then extended it back out to the man. "I can't take this. You've been a great audience, but–" The other man shook his head and grinned, backing away into the thick of the crowd and disappearing. Bryan, though wanting to give the money back, stared at it a moment before reluctantly pocketing it in his clothing.

All of a sudden, that became everyone's idea. Rebs were being tossed onto the stage by the raging crowd with each passing second. Some accidently pelted the four on their bodies with the money. They cheered madly for the group as they did. Kevin and Evan tried to catch as many of the gracious "donations" as they could. Rosy exchanged smiles with Bryan, and then picked up some herself. Maxie, like the twins, grabbed as many of the coins for herself as she possibly could. Bryan would have scolded for it considering she was never really part of the group, but then he remember the financial problems she'd been recovering from in the last eight months, so he let her have the money she wanted.

Evan placed five rebs that he had picked up in his right hand, then, grinning thankfully, walked over to the Lorvorian singer and placed the rebs into his hand. He gave the man a back-clapping hug again and told him, "Thanks man."

Bryan stepped up to the mike, as the crowd still pelted the stage with rebs. "All right, all right. Stop, stop. Please stop. Rebs are a commodity this day in age, and we want you guys to keep as much as you can. Please, we have more than enough, thank you. Please...please..."

The crowd cheered louder and the throwing of rebs slowly slowed and then stopped completely.

Bryan smiled warmly at them. "Thanks guys. Ya'll have been a wonderful crowd, and we were happy to entertain you. Thanks again. We hope to come back here soon. So until next time, this is the _Faith_ Improv Group signing off." With a salute to them, Bryan stepped off from the mike stand and started for the stairs. With one last dark look up at the shocked Surkosian judges, he walked off the stage, Kevin and Evan in front of him, stopping briefly to allow himself to wrap an arm around Rosy's shoulders. And together, black and white, they exited the stage, the crowd roaring their cheers and saying goodbye.

--

Same day: 11:01 P.M. _Faith_ Cruiser

"The Surkosians have three colors," Evan told Rosy, looking across the table at her. Her, him, Kevin, Dassa Frull, Maxie, and Bryan, when he came back, were having a little after-party in the Starlight Lounge. Bryan had been called to the bridge a minute ago by Captain Hiller. "White, black, and brown," Evan continued to Rosy. "Just like us. Guess which color _thinks_ they're the dominant color?"

Rosy snickered sickly. "The whites," she said with a sip of her drink.

"Yeah," Evan answered, thinking back to the information he had accessed on the Surkosians a few hours ago. "The fuckers still have slavery of browns and blacks too." He scowled in disgust. "Man, seriously, you'd think that after being alive for more than 900,000 years..." He scowled again and gulped down the rest of his first drink.

"I know," Rosy answered. "I studied about them back on the _Boundless_, and I can't believe this. They seemed pretty––decent, you know. What I read said nothing about them being racist."

"Well of course they wouldn't," the Vost, Dassa Frull, responded, her odd language being converted to English by the universal translator. "Slavery's not that popular in the Alliance."

"Yeah, I know," Rosy countered. "But still, after this whole—brouhaha, I woulda thought the books would have something that–hinted at their racism, or something."

Dassa and Kevin shrugged. The rest just drank.

Rosy snickered again. "It's kinda funny; they're supposed to be all high tech and sophisticated people, you know?" She shook her head and took another swig of her drink.

Evan returned her snicker. "'Eah well, they may be high tech but they ain't sophisticated."

"Well anyway," Rosy continued. "It doesn't matter. We kicked those bitches ass's." She raised her glass to the twins, who individually "clinked" glasses with her.

"Sho' enough," Kevin agreed.

"Fuck yeah," Evan also agreed.

They all drunk.

"And I love you boys, and I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Evan smiled earnestly at her. "That's perfectly aight. We kicked their ass's in the end anyway."

Rosy chuckled and took another drink.

"You drink that any faster and you'll be out before 11:30," came Bryan's voice from behind her.

She turned to him and raised her glass. "That's cool. That way I don't have to pretend to listen to you on my way home."

"Oooooh," Kevin sounded. "She got you there, man."

"Ehh," Bryan waved the insult off, grabbing a chair from an empty table. "Like I'm actually trying. Need to save some energy for my mistress on the side, after all." He straddled the chair and sat next to his girlfriend.

Rosy gave him the evil eye, then slapped him on the shoulder her free hand. "Like you have one. Took all your _lax_ skills just to get me to go out with you, remember?"

"This coming from the girl who kissed me first," Bryan countered.

Rosy shrugged playfully. "I was bored that day. Tried to liven it up a little and—" her eyes darted around in her sockets, thinking fast for an ending to that made-up sentence.

"Succeeded I'd say," Bryan finished for her. "Wouldn't you agree after all this time?"

Rosy giggled playfully. "No. Not at all." After Bryan rolled his eyes, she giggled again and, scooting her chair over, hugged his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Then pressing her face against his, told him, "Turn your chair around." He complied, and she hopped from her chair and landed, legs stretched completely out, on his lap.

Bryan rolled his eyes again. "All right, all right," he complied with her position. "Listen up people–I'm gonna tell the rest of the guys an' girls later, but here's our mission once we get outta here. The _Faith_ has been completely repaired, so we are going to rendevous with the frigate–"

Kevin kept one ear towards the Commander, but he stared out the window one last time at Caresica. And he noticed; it seemed to be a bit darker, and its features much out of sync since he had first seen it two days ago.


	14. Maya

5:17 P.M. _Sovereign _Cruiser

"Hey Garkuk," Bryan greeted the bartender.

Garkuk Bos'leth's long pair of Zeverian lips curled into a bright smile of his own. The Lounge's manager's and bartender's pointy ears bent back, giving his milk-white face a Devil look. "Good afternoon Commander––oh wait: General." He grinned again. "What can I get you?"

"Nothing at all," Bryan answered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two 1/16 reb coins, and reached out to hand them to Bos'leth. "Just wanna give you my missed payments of the last four years."

The Zeverian craned his neck sharply. "Awww no, four years? No Comman–General. It's all right. Consider them free drinks."

Bryan kept his hand extended. "Nope, sorry, can't do that. I owe you money, there it is." He put the coins down on the bar and slid them across it. "I'm not taking it back, so..." He let the sentence trail off and just nodded to Bos'leth.

Bos'leth sighed passively, then scooped the two coins up with his chubby hand. "If you insist. You want anything anyway?"

Bryan held his hand in front of him. "No, no. I'm perfectly fine. That's all I came here to do."

Bos'leth curtly nodded. "Okay. I have a question though. You leadin' this attack, or did you finally get that break you wanted?"

"Nope," Bryan answered immediately. "I vouched for Molly to lead it, but she backed out of it; said I deserved it more, so they gave it to me."

Bos'leth chuckled. "Oh ho, didn't expect that did you?"

"Yes, actually, I did, but I figured I might as well try not to get it. So much for that idea."

He chuckled again.

At that moment, a new body stepped up to the bar and sat in the stool to Bryan's direct left. She swivelled her stool around to face the bar, and sat patiently, smiling her hello to Bryan.

Bryan stared into the brown eyes of his former childhood camper and friend Maya Ranadan, one of the few people he hadn't had the chance to talk to before or after the briefing. By his choice though. He hadn't felt like staying behind in the briefing room, especially since he had only two hours to burn before the attack. So he was glad to have a chance to talk to her before the attack(and possibly the last time he might ever be able to talk to her).

"Well hello," he started.

"Hey," she said energetically.

"I thought you were on the _Liberty_."

"No," she answered, pointing her thumb behind her. "I'm here with my friend Sammy."

Bryan nodded. "Cool, cool."

"Hello," Bos'leth came in. "What can I get you?"

"Hey, can I have two Drath Ales please,–"

Bryan eyed her with content.

–no alcohol please," Maya finished with a snooty tone and face at Bryan. "I don't drink."

"Sure you don't," Bryan teased.

"I don't!"

"Mmhmm," Bryan continued to tease. "Right, gotcha."

"Shut up!"

Bryan grinned delightfully. "Of course you don't."

"Yes."

"All right, all right...just kidding...don't need to bite my head off."

Maya giggled. "You bring it on yourself."

Bryan shrugged. "Yeah, but oh well. I don't mind it too much."

Bos'leth placed Maya's two Ales in front of her. "There you go ma'am."

The woman pulled out one 1/16 coin and dropped it in front of the Zeverian. "Thank you." She stood up to leave.

"Your welcome. Have a nice evening."

"You too," Maya answered. She turned her gaze to Bryan and smiled again. "I saw you up there doing that game. You guys were funny. Good job."

"Thanks. Yeah, we've got that game down I'd say."

Maya chuckled. "Yeah, you did a good job." She stepped down from the bar, still looking back at him. "I'll talk to you later."

_I hope_, Bryan thought. "Yep. Bye."

"Bye."

They exchanged one last smile.

Bryan watched her leave with a certain fear; a fear that he shared with just about every Rebel in the Lounge. That was, of course, as he had thought earlier, that he may never get another chance to speak with her ever again. And he still wasn't sure–even after all this time–if the bad history and bad feelings between them had mended...


	15. Tale 3: Well, Wasn't That Nice?

**Tale 3: Well wasn't that nice?**

4:23 P.M. _Liberty _Cruiser. Five years before the Battle of Corpagia

Commander Bryan Rawling ran a hand through his long brown hair, exhausted beyond even his belief. Sighing–more like grunting–in fatigue, he sat back in the chair at the desk and shoved the papers in front of him away from his body. "If this isn't the _hardest_ work I've ever had to do..." he huffed into laughter.

Sitting next to him in her own chair, Admiral Emilie Rodenski looked up from her own papers. "You think _this_ is hard work?"

Bryan looked over at her crazy-eyed, remembering the difference in their command ranks. "For a Commander, yes."

"Awww, poor baby," Emilie teased.

Bryan fixed her with a dark look. "Haha, your so funny."

Emilie chuckled and hunched back over her work. "We only got four more to go through; it won't be that bad."

Grunting again, he leaned forward and pulled the papers back to him. "Still, I don't see why we have to read every single detail of every single one of these papers––these–these stations. I mean I can understand the need to be safe, but I don't see how two paragraphs"–his eyes scanned the two paragraphs– "on how the tradition of grocery shopping has practically been turned from a tradition into a law applies to choosing a station for this little–meeting."

Emilie snickered in amusement. "What station is that, Kozer Outpost?" She scooted her chair over to read the paper he was reading.

Bryan pointed to the alleged sentence he had referred to. "Yes, ma'am—right there."

Emilie read the sentence and laughed. "Oh my God, that is—weeeeird."

"Yep, well that's why I don't understand why we're reading all this crap. How is 'grocery tradition becoming law' gonna affect the negotiations?"

Emilie shrugged. "Well that's—one of the _few_ insignificant things. Ignore it."

"Oh, now you tell me," Bryan said sarcastically.

"Excuse me," Emilie warned. "You don't talk to me like that, Commander. I _am_ the Admiral."

"Yeah," he said rudely. "And your in charge," he mocked.

Emilie broke into a smile at the sound of the mock voice. "Cut it out! Get back to work!"

Bryan smacked his lips at her sarcastically. "Damn. Jeez." He started reading the paper again, muttering random things like a five year old would. "Stupid Admiral...give me stupid orders like she's all the big boss...in her fancy Admiral's quarters..."

Emilie smiled again at the "Admiral's quarters" remark.

Bryan continued: "We Commanders have to—bunk with our pilots in small rooms, and the Admiral's get the fancy rooms with the"–he gazed around at Emilie's quarters–"three couches, a giant, big observation window, double-mattress bed...stupid Admiral..."

"Hey," Emilie finally said. "Shut up and get back to work; faster we finish this, faster you can get outta here, and faster I go on to the"–she slapped him hard on the shoulder–"_harder_ work."

Bryan chuckled. "Yeah. I guess I am lucky then."

Emilie fixed him with a quizzical look. "More than you know, pal. Now shut up and finish reading." As she said this, he communication's monitor beeped and flashed a white light.

Bryan took this chance to extend his little joke. "Stupid fancy big communications system..."

Emilie cracked again, and slapped him on the shoulder again. "Shut up!"

Bryan laughed delightfully as she flipped the system on. "Rodenski here. Go ahead."

"Sorry to disturb you, ma'am," came the answer. "But she said it was urgent. Transmission from _Juniper_ Station on the civilian channel."

"Oh," Emilie said in surprise. "Put it through here. Thank you."

"Aye, ma'am."

A moment later, Emilie's monitor came to life, and Maya Ranadan's pretty face appeared on it. She was obviously sitting in her office in her station, judging from the desk top that could be seen in the picture. That and the fact that her hair was tied back behind her head formally, along with the gloss on her lips and the plushness of the makeup on her dark cheeks. Her brown eyes lit up like stars when they laid eyes on Emilie. "Hi," she said cheerfully.

"Hey," Emilie responded. "Did you manage to get it?" she asked seriously.

Maya nodded. "Yes. Secured it five minutes ago. Easily too," she smiled proudly. "You can come and get it anytime you want." She looked over in Bryan's direction and started. "Oh. Hello," she said with the same cheerfulness.

Bryan nodded curtly in greeting as he always did. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Excuse me?" Emilie said quickly, gesturing for him to turn away. "Get back to work."

Bryan eyed her quizzically again. "So Maya," he said sarcastically. "How's life been treatin' ya huh?" He asked, intentionally pretending to ignore Emilie.

This cause Maya to laugh. "Pretty good. You?"

Bryan cocked his head once. "Oh, just peachy. Sittin' here reading about how traditions become laws on some distant station while looking at the station for possible diplomacy options." He gave a thumbs us. "Just perfect, you know?"

Emilie gave him a stern warning look. "Bryan!"

"Oh for crying out loud we haven't even made a choice yet, what can she do?"

Maya smiled for a moment. "So wait, you guys are looking for a station. What do you need it for?"

"Can't tell you that, Maya, sorry," Emilie answered.

"Would _Juniper_ be okay? I'd love to see you again, and to give you the intelligence chip, and it's more than big enough to handle any meeting or conference."

"Well—" Emilie closed her mouth and opened, trying to think of what to say. "Maybe." She looked back over at Bryan and shrugged. "I mean, it's–it's out of the way..."

"Yeah," Bryan answered, leaning forward in his chair, "And it's also near the border of the Autrelliens, who have been known to make deals with the Empire in the past—no offense Maya."

"It's all right." She giggled. "I get that all the time."

"I don't think it's the best idea but hey," he held his hands up in surrender. "You're the Admiral, as you've made it abundantly clear. Can't override you."

Emilie rolled her eyes at him, then turned back to Maya. "We'd be delighted," she blurted.

Bryan jumped in surprise at her quick decision. Even he thought she would have given it more thought than that. But oh well, she _was_ the Admiral...he still had a right to complain though. "Are you kidding me? We've spent the last four hours going over all this paperwork on this and that station, detail after detail, and you make your decision like that?" he snapped his fingers.

Both Emilie and Maya broke into laughs.

Bryan opened his hands to the ceiling and looked up, and screamed in exasperation. "Ahhhhhhh!"

That caused Emilie to keel over in her chair, stomach heaving with her laughter.

Bryan shook his head. "I swear to God, Emilie, your gonna be the death of me one day."

The Admiral sat back up and looked at him with a bright smile. She then stopped laughing long enough to shrug innocently, then burst out again. She turned back to Maya, recovering quickly. "_Juniper_ it is Maya."


	16. Tale 3: Part 2

A week later. 11:43 A.M. _Juniper_ Market and Trade Outpost

Ambassador Shalon Vidarix smiled proudly out the giant observation window of _Juniper_ Outpost's Grand Conference Chamber. The glowing sun of the Sawwo star system flooded his body with light and made his eyes twinkle in its brilliance. "This is perfect, Madam Administrator." He turned around to face Maya. "The Koolians will be most pleased with it."

Maya shared his proud smile. "Good. The negotiations should go well then."

"With a station like this," Bryan said from across the room, feeling somewhat out of his place in his plain flight suit. "I don't see how they could go wrong."

Vidarix nodded his thin head at him. "My sentiments exactly, Commander Rawling." To Maya: "Your station is wonderful; a marvelous piece of art, Administrator." He bowed to her.

Maya bowed in return. "Thank you."

Bryan suddenly realized, as he swallowed a dry gulp, how thirsty he was. "Excuse me Ambassador, but do you need me for anything else for the moment, 'cause I'd like to sample the local bar if it's all right."

The Vost Ambassador dismissed him with another nod. "Sure, Commander. Go ahead. Just be back in time for us to leave. Do you know the way there?"

Bryan gave him a scrawny salute. "Yes, sir. To the left then down, then directly to the right. Right?" he asked Maya.

Maya nodded matter-of-fact. "Mmhmm."

"Good. 12:30 isn't it?"

Vidarix nodded a third time. "That's it Commander."

"All right then. Until then, sir." He waved goodbye to him and started for the door.

"Goodbye. Have fun, Mr. Rawling."

"Thanks," Bryan responded. Nodding his goodbye to Maya, he walked out of the Chamber and immediately left. As he left, he heard Vidarix ask Maya, "May we start going over the details of the conference?"

Bryan grinned. _Sorry Maya_.

--

A half hour later, as Bryan was enjoying his third Fedrellon Glazer in the central Promenade deck bar, the Wildfire, and having a casual conversation with the bartender, a human named Avar, when Maya walked into the bar, still dressed in her formal Administrator robes, an out-of-place sight in the informal–and practically sloppy–bar. She walked up to the bar and sat in the stool next to Bryan, placing one hand flat on the bar, and opening the other one, setting down two 1/32 reb coins. "My usual Ale please, Avar."

"Yes, ma'am," the black bartender grinned, and walked to a glass case containing all sorts of different bottles.

Bryan raised an eyebrow. "Ale? I didn't know you were a drinker. Are you?"

"I don't," she answered, somewhat defensively. "I have Avar take _out_ the alcohol in it."

"Oh. Really...?" He eyed her with playful suspicion. "How do I know that that's true?"

Maya giggled. "Shut up. I don't drink."

"Right, gotcha." He gave her a playful thumbs up. "Hey Avar, does she _really_ have you take out the alcohol in the drink?"

Avar, who had been listening to the whole conversation, smiled with his back turned to them as he fixed Maya's drink. "Yes, I take it out. But only for her."

Maya smiled victoriously at Bryan. "Haha," she said, then giggled again.

Bryan stuck his tongue out at her.

But it got basically no reaction from her. "Wow, that was mature," she said instead.

"I'm a pilot holding a Fedrellon Glazer, gimme a break," he said, taking a sip.

Maya chuckled for a moment, then he face screwed up into an annoyed look, and she started pulling at the band in her hair, sighing in frustration and respite. "I hate my hair." Shaking her head furiously, she practically ripped the band out, finally managing to untangle it from the graceful and beautiful hair design it held up. Maya's curly black hair fell down to just below her shoulders, bounced once, then stood still on her back.

Bryan raised his eyebrows at the sight. "Oh, you grew it out," he said as an observation.

She smiled. "Thanks. You like it this way."

"Yeah. It looks...good."

Maya reached out and grabbed her Ale from Avar. "Thanks. But this time I'm actually going to pay you myself." She slid the two 1/32 reb coins across the top of the bar to him.

Avar stared down at the coins with a hint of surprise. "Thank you ma'am," he said with a curt nod.

She turned her attention to Bryan. "My supervisors usually pay for my drinks for me. I feel guilty about it sometimes." She took and drink, closing her eyes as she swallowed the soothing fluid.

"Oh, so your that broke?" he asked jokingly.

Maya giggled again. "No," she responded. "My supervisors manage the funds, and they pay Avar through my account."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Hmm. Interesting system but okay."

"Yeah," she agreed, taking another sip. "That's the first time I've paid Avar personally in a long time."

"Well it was awfully nice of you," Bryan complimented.

"Thanks."

Bryan gulped down the last of his Glazer, refreshed completely by it. "Good stuff," he commented off-hand.

"Mmhmm. What is it?" she asked after she took another drink.

"Fedrellon Glazer. Best tasting non-liquor drink in the whole galaxy. " He grinned. "I'm not a drinker either."

"Cool. So you like Fedrellon drinks?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. They may be the horniest bunch of bastards in the galaxy but they sure as hell know how to make drinks. Fedrellon Glazers, Grape _Duunef_ 's, Ivory _klip_'s—that's my favorite, but bars rarely have them. Rare stuff."

Maya swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, there aren't many places that have that, or the _Duunef_. Glazer is the most common."

Bryan cocked his head. "Yup, but that's okay," he said with a stifle, "They're still pretty good."

"Mmhmm," Maya said again, taking another sip. "Have you ever tried one of their _ferregrino_'s?"

"No," Bryan answered with another, rather rude, stifle. He hadn't meant it to sound so rude. "That's an liquor drink—or drinks. I don't drink, remember?"

"Yeah I know, but their isn't much liquor in it. Just a small drop, I know."

"I know, but I just...I dunno." He shrugged, "Still liquor."

"You want to try it at least?"

He hesitated. "Maybe if I feel like it, yeah."

She gestured towards the door. "I have a bottle of Fruit _ferregrino_ in my room. You could try it," she said quickly.

Bryan started to laugh. "Whoa, whoa, okay, calm down there Maya." _What's she up to?_ Bryan thought. His mind started racing for answers to the question, and several came to him. Some a little more wrong than others, and some just stupid. _Oh come on, its Maya. _"You sure that drink isn't alcoholic?" he asked as another joke.

Maya gave a cynical look and slapped him on the shoulder. "No, you—jerk, it isn't, I'm just asking."

Bryan smiled and ran the question through his mind. He shrugged. "Why not, let's go."

"Okay," Maya said with some cheer. She gulped down the last of her Ale, breathed, and set the tumbler down on the bar. "Thanks Avar," she called over to the bartender. She slid off her stool.

Avar looked up from the drink he was making now, and smiling graciously at Maya. "Your welcome, ma'am. Come again soon."

"I will. Bye."

"Buh-bye." He swung his eyes at Bryan. "Nice to meet you Commander."

"You too Avar. Take care." He and Maya stepped down from the bar and started for the exit.

Maya's personal quarters weren't all that far away from the bar, so it only took less than a minute's walk to get there. It gave Bryan a chance to admire how large and insanely shocking station _Juniper_ was. It reminded Bryan-the-_Star Wars_-fan of Cloud City, the immense metropolis that Lando Calrissian had run in _The Empire Strikes Back_ before he betrayed Han Solo, Chewbacca, Leia and the rest of them. As they walked down the final corridor to Maya's door, the Administrator took off her crimson lace shoulder drape, balling it arm in her hands. "It's too hot in this thing," she commented.

Bryan raised an eyebrow at her.

She saw it, and gave him a flustered frown. "What? This is a heavy outfit; let's see you wear it and not get hot."

"Hey, I never said anything," Bryan said in his defense.

"Yeah right; like you weren't going to."

Bryan rolled his eyes.

"I'm just kidding," Maya laughed.

"Right."

She laughed again as the double doors opened and she walked in. "Sit down anywhere you want. I'll go get the _ferregrino_." She walked into another room.

Bryan stood a moment in the middle of her immense quarters—much larger than Emilie's plush Admiral's quarters aboard the _Liberty_. He looked around at the three salt-white couches and one beige carpeted chair that were encircling him right now. The living room that he was currently standing in was larger than his entire quarters that he shared with three other people. It was broad, and shaped like an oval, reminding Bryan somewhat of the oval office of the White House back in Washington D.C. on Earth. This—room wasn't the only one though. It opened up into three separate rooms, complete with three foyers as well, each on one angle of a triangle. The first foyer to his left ran into another set of double doors that were closed. Bryan assumed that that was Maya's bedroom. The second foyer directly ahead of him led into what appeared to be a den, with an observation window enclosing a sightseeing balcony that seemed to bring the stars to life. The third and final foyer, to his right where Maya had gone, led to what seemed to be a small kitchen. It looked normal and out of place is these astounding—house-like quarters.

Not wanting to seem rude again, Bryan complied with Maya's request and sat down in the beige chair, sinking back into it, happy to be off his feet. The tour Maya had given him and Ambassador Vidarix had been exhilarating, if also exhausting. He only let himself enjoy for a moment, before sitting up comfortably.

Maya walked in a moment later, carrying a labeled bottle with a bubbly, mysterious raspberry-colored liquid in it and a tall glass. The bottle was half full. She held it up for him to see. "Here it is." She "popped" the cork out of the bottle and poured only a small amount of it into the glass. "There you go," she said, handing him the drink. "A baby drink considering you don't drink."

Bryan grinned at that remark and took the drink down in one gulp. The berry flavor splashed all his taste buds and his body felt a surge of energy unlike anything he'd ever tasted. Looking at the few drops left in the glass with awe, he snickered in amazement. "Wow! Are you sure this thing only has a little liquor in it?"

Maya chuckled. "Yes, only a little per serving."

Bryan snickered again. "Damn."

Maya stood passively and smiled again. "You want another one?"

Bryan was about to turn her down, but then felt the left side of his flight suit vibrate fiercely. He cursed himself for forgetting to turn his comlink's "vibrate" mode off and the "buzz" mode back on. Quickly, the man pulled out the comlink and flipped it on. "Rawling here."

"Bryan!" exclaimed the supercharged, angry voice of Emilie Rodenski. The sudden explosion of sound made Bryan jump a mile in surprise. "Maya betrayed us! She turned us over to the Empire! I don't know why! You and Ambassador Vidarix need to get off _Juniper_ now, though! And hurry, the _Eraser_ is right behind us!"

"Bengold's ship?!" Bryan said loudly. He turned to face Maya completely. "Maya betrayed us?" he questioned her, suspecting Maya but not able to believe just yet. The look on Maya's face looked innocent enough—but also nervous. She swallowed. "In what way?" he asked Emilie.

"Wha—!" Emilie said in a puff of air. "In what way?!" she yelled furiously. "Bryan, I can't—we need to—" she sighed in exasperation. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Commander?!" she shouted at the top of her lungs into the comlink, causing Bryan to push the com farther away from his face. "Maya turned us over to the Empire!" She yelled even louder. "Now hurry up and get outta there! The _Eraser_ is right behind us!"

Maya took one step back from Bryan.

Bryan noticed her breathing had quickened, and her face had become much more flustered. Her eyes betrayed her–nervous and scared as hell. He looked over at the far away observation window, and saw both the Cruiser _Liberty_ and the _Faith_, along with some of both task forces support ships: the lone Nebulon-B Frigate _Sortana_; the Corellian Gunship's _Catorgan_ and _Basil_; the light Calamari Cruiser _Rocket_, and the front port side of the Medium Transport _Thunderchild_. Then he heard the double doors to Maya's bedroom open up.

"Freeze Rebel!"

Bryan turned around, only to face three gun barrels pointed directly at him, one a BlasTech LD-45 hand pistol, held by an Imperial military Lieutenant. The other two were BlasTech MD-44 Battle Rifles, held by two white-armored Imperial Stormtroopers. Bryan's heart suddenly sank at the sight, and he knew Emilie was right. He turned and gave Maya a true dark look, the darkest and bloodiest he could muster. His anger rose to an unexpected level, and his hands balled up into fists. But he didn't move towards hers. He kept his anger in check. After all, anger was what had led Anakin Skywalker to become Darth Vader. Keeping his eyes on Maya, he raised his hands above his head, not wanting to risk a daring–and very risky–escape out her room's double doors. "Get outta here, Emilie. They got me, and I'm sure they've already got Vidarix too. Good luck." He flipped off the comlink, and dropped it.

--

Emilie Rodenski heard Bryan's last sentence with a empty heart. "Wait, Bryan–!" she started, but stopped when she saw that on her armrest comlink that he had cut the channel. She pounded her fist on the armrest. "Dammit!" Her voice diminished to an angry whisper. "Damn you Maya!" she said through gritted teeth. _You won't get away with this_, she added in her mind, looking angrily out at the peaceful-looking _Juniper_ Outpost.

Just then, the alarm klaxons and red lights started flashing all around the bridge.

"Shit!" cursed the bridge's navigator, Lieutenant Barry Carr. "It's the _Eraser_ Admiral, dropping out of hyperspace behind us. _Vehement _and _Vindicator_ are with it still."

Emilie sat up in her chair and straightened her white command jacket. "Get us out of here Barry! Signal the other ships and tell 'em to follow us!" She turned her head to her right towards the weapons sector of the bridge. "Resume static fire! Same pattern, same flux, same power! Launch all fighters to cover our escape!"

"Admiral?!" called Carr. "Where are we supposed to go?! The _Eraser_ is blocking our only exit route back to Alliance territory!"

"Any exit will do, Lieutenant!" Emilie answered quickly. "Even if it takes deeper into Imperial space! Better yet, make it Autrellien space instead! Head that way; first jump coordinates you can find!"

Carr hesitated then gave in. "Aye, ma'am."

That made Emilie actually think about the order she had just given. _Oh well_, she concluded, _What other choice have we got. We're screwed no matter where we go_. She thought about her trapped friend back on _Juniper_. _Hang in there Bryan. We'll be back_.

--

The Imperial Lieutenant gestured for the Stormtroopers to arrest Bryan with a flick of two fingers, keeping his gun locked on him. Five more troopers came out from behind the other three. In a hurry, they had Bryan on his stomach, cuffing his hands on the middle of his back with gold Imperial binders. They then stood him up on his feet, and lined up in pairs of two all around him. One stepped forward towards the Lieutenant, the one Bryan assumed to be the leader, and said sharply, "Prisoner secure sir!"

The Lieutenant finally lowered his weapon and placed it back in its holster, walking towards Bryan. "We've killed your Ambassador. He's dead." He stopped directly in front of Bryan. "And you'll be too if you don't cooperate, Rebel. I have permission to kill you anytime for any reason."

"Well what are you waiting for then? I mean, you've already killed the Ambassador, and I'm not expecting to live that long—or does the young part of you not want to kill a man in cold blood?"

The Lieutenant laughed heartily. "Believe me Commander Rawling, I have no problem killing you. It would help my career a lot. However, you've been requested to be captured alive."

"By whom?" Bryan asked quickly, not really caring but asking anyway.

"Lord Vader," the Lieutenant answered with a twisted grin. "Good man. Knows how to properly interrogate Rebel's like you."

Bryan shuddered on the inside at Vader's name. He looked the Lieutenant straight in his eye. "What's your name, pal?"

The Lieutenant snickered. "John Doe," he answered as a joke. "Take him away," he ordered the Stormtroopers. Bryan looked down quickly and spotted his rank tag. His name was Peter Kath. With one last evil look at Maya, Bryan allowed the troopers to drag him out the door without any fight at all.

When the Commander was gone, Lieutenant Kath turned to Maya. "Your payment is in your office. In full. The Empire thanks you for your services Ms. Ranadon–"

"I told you I don't want it; the money," Maya spat at him, tears starting to well up in her eyes. "Take it back. Get out of my room!" she shouted, pointing him to the door.

Kath regarded her with a neutral expression, and calmly walked out her door.


	17. Tale 3: Part 3

That night: 8:34 P.M. Super Star Destroyer _Eraser_

Bryan Rawling tried to sleep with his head resting on his knees, alone in the darkest corner of his prison cell. He kept himself at peace in his position, using it to conquer his age old fear of darkness. Pitch black was when he was at his worst. Anything could be lurking in it, ready to strike at him. Bryan didn't trust it. His senses were always on the watch when shrouded in it, never giving him peace. Never giving anything he wasn't afraid of—

_Tyew!_

A blaster shot rang out from outside Bryan's cell. The sound made him jolt in fear. Raising his head, he listened to make sure he wasn't hearing things now. As he did, the door to his cell opened and a short Stormtrooper trotted in. At first, Bryan thought it was his guard, but then he saw his guard laying dead in what would have been a painful position, just outside the cell door.

The newcomer jogged towards Bryan, holding a gun at his side. Bryan took a step back and dropped into an amateur fighting stance, simply bending his knees and raising his arms, fists open, to his waist. The short trooper stopped, and then removed his—

—_her_ helmet. Bryan stared in shock and confusion.

"Here!" Maya Ranadan shouted, tossing him one of the guns. She then put her helmet back on and rushed back to the door, placing her right shoulder against the right bulkhead, aiming her weapon outside of the cell. In the distance, Bryan heard the sounds of boots clanking.

"What? You're not actually expecting me to trust you are you?" Bryan asked her angrily, approaching to where she was.

"No. I'm sorry." She suddenly fired off a shot, and Bryan heard someone grunt outside, and then what sounded like a sack of wood hit the floor. "But I'm your only guide out of here"–she leaned out farther, and fired another shot along the adjacent wall. Bryan heard another grunt and another body fell–"unless you'd like to stay here?" She backed away from the cell door, shoving Bryan back into the cell and shutting the door. She then ducked down and dropped an armed pulse grenade at the lip of the door. Bryan instinctively ran as far back from the door as he could. A few seconds later, the bomb blew, just as the Imperials opened the cell door. The explosion took out the door, and a good portion of two bulkheads the door had been mounted on; as well as a majority of the Stormtroopers that had been at the door at the time the bomb exploded. Maya, fully protected in her own set of armor, was the first to charge out of the cell. Bryan followed suit, having to run a little faster to catch up with her. "I got left!" she shouted back to him, and burst out the door, blasting away. Bryan went right after her, and was forced to stop almost instantly by a shot that went wide left of Maya's arms and whizzed past his face. Blinded for a moment by the bolt's light, Bryan was then forced to retreat back into the cell by a volley of enemy shots fired down the cell bay. Maya backed herself into an alcove created by the far cell bay's bulkhead. They and the enemy Stormtroopers traded pot shots at each other for a long time, no one scoring hits.

Suddenly, Maya dropped back, exposing her more to enemy fire. "Grenade!" she shouted.

Bryan ducked back into the cell as another explosion was set off somewhere close by. The blast sent Maya to the ground, helpless against another volley from the enemy. _Just because she betrayed me doesn't mean she deserves to die_. Taking a breath of courage, he stepped out into the line of fire and just blasted away, shooting anywhere he saw white armor. He drew all the fire away from Maya as he ducked into the alcove behind him. That gave her enough time to get back into cover, as Bryan managed to hit one of the troopers directly on his forehead, and he fell to the steps he was laying on, dead. There were still four left though, and Bryan was starting to run out of power, as he was sure Maya was.

And then the most terrifying sight possible at the moment happened. The turbolift on the other side of the bay swung open, and five more Stormtroopers came barging out of it, charging towards the fighting. Since they _were_ easier targets, Bryan leveled his blaster up at fired away at them, but missed with every shot.

But they didn't fire back at him. Instead, the new five charged up behind the other four Stormtroopers, and fired at all their backs. The four troopers died a moment later, falling dead on the cell bay stairs. That caused Bryan to stop shooting instantly, and he pulled his gun back against his body, confused. They had just been helped out by Imperial Stormtroopers. His immediate guess was that they were with Maya. He looked over at Maya, who did the same, but was still as confused as Bryan. _Maybe not_.

The five troopers started blasting away maniacally at the room around them—at the security cameras. Like Luke, Han, and Chewie had in the original _Star Wars_. In no time, all the cameras were blasted into hulking piles of smoldering bits and pieces. These men were definitely here to help. But who were they?

One of the troopers removed his helmet. A Latino human with a thin goatee put his armored hand up in assurance. "Maya, its me! Its me!"

Maya heaved out a sigh. "Oh," she moaned in relief. "You scared me." She paused. "Thanks guys."

The Latino smiled charmingly. "Welcome. Now lets get outta here, and you"–he pointed at Bryan–"watch where your shooting."

Bryan grimaced in apology. "Sorry about that. Didn't know who you guys were, all I saw was the armor."

The Latino grinned again. "That's all right. Just don't do it again." He started for the door then turned back. "By the way, name's Carlos Sammons, Chief of—" He exchanged disappointed glances with Maya. "Ex-Chief of Security aboard _Juniper_ Outpost."

"Bryan Rawling, Commander of the Rebel Cruiser _Faith_. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." He gestured to Maya. "We're with her. He walked towards the turbolift. "Let's get going. Won't be long before another platoon gets here."

"What about the turbolift?" Bryan asked as he jumped down the stairs. "By now they're gonna shut 'em down."

"Not now though," Carlos answered. He opened the turbolift doors and curved his arm around inside it, pressing a button on the control pad from outside the lift. Pulling back his arm, he stepped back as the lift doors closed and the car started up the shaft. After that, Carlos wedged his hand in between the closed outer doors of the shaft. He pressed a hidden button on the right door's end, and both hissed open. Carlos ducked his head inside the shaft and glanced up—and smirked. He kept the smirk as he glanced back at Bryan. "Ha, ha. See?" he pointed up the shaft. "You're too slow you mother fuckers!" he shouted up the shaft.

Bryan went to see what he was talking about. And it caused him to smirk as well. The turbolift had stopped partway up the shaft, locked into place by a security code probably. "Idiots," he insulted. He tapped Carlos on his shoulder pad. "Why would we take the elevator? How stupid do they think we are?"

Carlos laughed. "Who knows. Besides, why would we go up? The hangar and our escape is that way." He pointed the opposite way down the shaft. He swung an arm at the rest of the people standing in the room. "Come on guys, this way! And be careful going down!" he shouted, putting his helmet back on. Holstering his blaster, he began the climb down the shaft, Bryan following him.

"One question?" Bryan asked. "How we gonna get past everyone? They'll prolly have guards posted on every floor, and I don' even wanna talk about what the hangar's gonna look like."

"We're not taking any of the floors," Carlos answered first. "Vents." He stopped just above a vent cover. "We've planned a route to the hangar using them." He removed the cover.

"And then what?"

Carlos hesitated. "We improvise." He looked inquisitively at him. "Maya tells me your good at that."

Bryan shrugged nervously. "I'm okay."

"Let's hope," Carlos said as he entered the vent.

"Hey Carlos!" Maya called from somewhere in the shaft. "Is Cano in place?""

Carlos nodded slowly. "Yeah, but there's no way we could've gotten to him, so he's gonna set the bombs off himself!" he shouted sadly.

Bryan's eyes widened curiously at that remark.

"What? No!"

Carlos swallowed heavily. "We tried to talk him out of it!" He called. "But he insisted. He said nothing would give him greater pleasure than blowing up a Super Star Destroyer and killing an Imperial Admiral! So he's gonna blow himself up!"

Maya didn't responded.

"Who's Cano and what's he doing?" Bryan asked Carlos as they turned a corner in the vent.

"Cano is a clerk for Habbor's Hobby Shop on _Juniper_. He volunteered to help us out. Hates the Empire. Volunteered to remote detonate explosives in the _Eraser_'s core, but we couldn't find a remote with the range for that, so he said he'd blow them up himself, manually. He's in the engine room right now, waiting for our signal."

Bryan understood. "Ah," he said sadly. "Is he young?"

"Sixteen."


	18. Tale 3: Part 4

"Go!" Carlos whispered.

Maya, now first in the line, kicked out the vent cover and leapt down onto the catwalk, with Dena, another _Juniper_ worker, following.

"–Maya–!"

"–Dena–!"

They both fired in their respectable directions, then disappeared in those separate directions, allowing Carlos and the rest of the squad to jump out. Bryan re-holstered his blaster and swung his sniper rifle–which his rescuers had brought–around into both hands. Kneeling in the open vent, he activated the sniper's scope, and trained the crosshair on the operations booth on the other side of the hangar. There were three controllers sitting in there, and one Lieutenant walking around, giving orders. Bryan chose to aim at the far left controller and fingered the trigger. But then, the Lieutenant stood over that controller, and presented himself as an easy target. So Bryan moved the crosshair slightly over and fired, though he hesitated regretfully at first. The shot zipped across the bay, went straight through the transparisteel window, and hit the exposed Lieutenant right on the front of his collar. His blood splattered onto the controller, who reacted slowly to it, and was then hit in his face by Bryan's second shot. The other two controllers ducked behind their control panels, hiding.

Bryan sighed in reluctance and zoomed out, using the scope to scan for targets along the far catwalk. He spotted two to his left, standing and firing across the bay; perfect prey. Two shots later, they both were fallen on the deck.

Suddenly, a Stormtrooper backed into his view just outside the vent. Warily, Bryan picked up his gun from its holster and aimed it steadily at the trooper.

"Bryan, we need some help out here!" the trooper suddenly shouted. Judging by the voice, Bryan guessed that it was Gerreth, the Trisalkan Security Lieutenant on _Juniper_.

_One of ours_, Bryan thought.

Then suddenly, Gerreth got shot right on the chin of his helmet. He dropped to the ground instantly, dead. Bryan dropped his sniper rifle and burst out of the vent, instinctively pointing his gun to his right, and just held the trigger. Luckily, no one was in his way, and the shots raced into a line of four Stormtroopers in the distance. Three went down, and the other fell into the wall. Bryan quickly snapped a shot off at him, which hit him in his shooting arm, knocking the gun out of his hands. Bryan finished him with a third shot to his stomach.

"Shit!" Steno Raffle shouted. "We got more company comin' in!" He fired pot shots destined for the opposite catwalk.

Bryan followed Steno's gaze—

–"They got snipers!"–

—and saw two strike teams full of Stormtroopers come storming into the bay from two separate entrances on both sides of the launch booth. Immediately, he raised his blaster and added to Steno's volleys, though he knew it wasn't going to do much. They would need more firepower to survive this assault. However, the answer to that problem was right in front of him—

One of the six TIE Fighters hanging on the top rack.

Bryan re-holstered his gun and dropped to one knee, re-gripping the sniper rifle, and propping its nozzle on the top of the railing. He targeted a fool Stormtrooper on the other side, a sniper, who was standing still as he aimed across. With a smirk, Bryan picked him off in one shot. When that was done, he turned back to his partners. "Hey Carlos?!"

Luckily, Carlos was the nearest one to him. "What?!"

Bryan tossed the sniper rifle at him, and it landed at his feet. "I'm putting the sniper rifle at your feet, so watch out!"

"Why?!"

"'Cause!" Bryan responded as he crawled over to a flight of stairs, a stray shot from a sniper shooting the air where he had just been. "I'm takin' one of the Fighters! Cover me please!" He took the stairs two at a time. They were steep, so he made sure to time his jumps perfectly, all while trying his best to dodge shots from that one sniper. He finally made it to the first rack of TIEs, waited until the sniper fired again, then made a run for the nearest TIE, jumping into the cockpit as a late shot from the sniper sizzled over his head. He quickly closed the hatch and powered up the TIEs systems. His only problem now was that the TIE was locked to the rack by docking clamps that would need to be forcibly removed. So Bryan activated the comlink and opened all channels, all frequencies, meaning that a majority of the ship and the Stormtrooper comlinks would be able to hear him. It didn't really matter anymore though. "Carlos!" he shouted. _Please tell me you can hear this._

"Bryan?!"

"Yeah, buddy, its me. I need you to shoot out the docking clamps on this thing. They're locked."

He heard him grunt. "That's not gonna be easy!"

"Well try," Bryan told him gently. "If I can get free, I can wrap those guys up for you in a few seconds." An idea popped into his head. "In fact, I can buy you some time right now. Hang on." He pressed his thumbs on the triggers on top of the steering yoke, and a flurry of hot lasers screamed from the TIEs twin guns. They crashed into the far wall, cutting into it. On the catwalk far above, the ground underneath the Stormtroopers shook like an earthquake, pitching and rocking furiously. Two were thrown over the railing, and fell to their deaths. Others were knocked down. Bryan released the triggers. "Do it now!" he shouted into the com. "Quick; while they're still down! I'm the first Fighter on the right!"

"You got it!" Carlos shouted with new energy. "Maya!"

A minute later, the two reached the Fighter and blasted the clamps off of it. Bryan grabbed the yoke and guided the Fighter away from the racks and then up towards the opposite catwalk. Starting from the right side, he strafed the entire right side of the catwalk, killing every trooper on that side, and ripping the catwalk from the wall. It dangled helplessly, held up only by the left side, which Bryan strafed next. The next second, the entire catwalk was blown from the wall, and all the enemy Stormtroopers in the hangar were dead.

That done, Bryan flew back over to the other side, where his discovered that his rescuers were only down to three; Steno and Gerreth were dead. Bodies from the battle were strewn everywhere on the catwalk. "Jump on when you get the chance guys," he said over the comlink. He had to do this just right for then to do that, though. So he brought the Fighter as close to the catwalk as he could, turning it around so that he couldn't see them; however, he slowed it down slightly above the catwalk, which allowed the craft to fall gently and slowly. Carlos, Maya, and Dena jumped onto the hatch of the TIE. Once on, Bryan turned up the power to the ion engines, and gently floated it away from the catwalk and the TIE racks.

"Take us to the deck," Carlos said. "We're stealing one of those _Gamma_ Assault Shuttles."

"Ooo," Bryan whistled. "Nice choice."

"Thank you," Carlos answered with new cheer.

Once into open area again, Bryan cut the engines to minimum power, and so the TIE began to fall, with a kind of grace, towards the black, stainless hangar deck. He immediately spun the TIE around the face all the other TIEs sitting on the racks. Also, a large contingent of Stormtroopers had gathered on all the catwalks that were between racks. Bryan smirked. "Hang on guys," he said. Maneuvering the TIE gently so as not to knock off his passengers, Bryan began strafing all the catwalks as he made his way down the levels, also taking out numerous TIEs in their clamps. The Stormtroopers were barely a match, powerless against the TIEs immense laser power.

It took a while, and created a lot of noise, but the TIE finally reached the bottom. After conferring with Carlos, Bryan tipped the Fighter onto its back, barely floating it, and Carlos, Maya, and Dena jumped off. "Get to the shuttle!" he told them. "I'll cover you then...land somehow."

"Got it!" Carlos responded.

Bryan brought the Fighter upright again, and immediately spotted a whole troop of Stormtroopers running as fast as they could into the bay from a tiny entrance across the hangar. For the third time in the last ten minutes, Bryan smirked, turned the Fighter in that direction, and opened fire. And, as with any bunch of Stormtroopers that had challenged him, they were killed instantly.

So Bryan patrolled the hangar for a minute longer. No more reinforcements came, and he got his signal.

"We're in Bryan," Maya told him. "Land and get in here!"

"On it!" Bryan tipped the Fighter low to the ground so that he was looking at the floor, seeing his reflection on the spotless deck. He then cut the power to the engines completely, and the Fighter crashed into the deck. The transparisteel canopy shattered, and the crash ended with a light "thud." Bryan opened the hatch in a hurry, and scurried from the TIE, bolting for the assault shuttle. Once he was inside, he found his way to the cockpit. "I'm drivin!'" he announced before anyone could argue. Shooing Maya out of the pilot's chair, he settled in and quickly identified all of the essential controls–engine power and propulsion, weapons, shields etc. "All right," he said anxiously. "Here we go." He activated the repulsorlift engines, and lifted the heavy shuttle off the ground. "Get to those gun stations," he ordered the other three. "I'll get the fourth." As they took seats behind him, Bryan glided the shuttle to the hangar mouth, and scanned it. Much to his disappointment, he discovered a problem. "Shit. Their shields are up. I've got an idea though. Hang on." He tipped the shuttle vertically and pumped the throttle, jolting the craft slowly out the hangar mouth, but making sure he didn't drive it too far into the _Eraser_'s shields. Watching his proximity monitors closely, he expertly guided the large shuttle spotlessly out of the hangar. Grunting, the pilot managed to keep it from hitting the bottom shield. "Shields up. Start firing at the surface. Any turbolaser guns you can destroy _will_ be helpful." He practically hugged the hull though, making shooting at anything very difficult. The _Eraser_'s guns pounded salvo after salvo at the shuttle, but the shields ate most of them up, though they were steadily being brought down. After what seemed like forever, the shuttle finally reached the port side surface, and Bryan had to practically make the long ship do a flip to curve onto that side without hitting the Super Star Destroyer's shields. Straightening it out, he flew the shuttle quickly off that surface and onto the top hull of the _Eraser_. Behind him, the other three fired back rapidly at the Star Destroyer's weapons. Since the shuttle was underneath the _Eraser_'s shields, the shots easily tore apart any gun–or anything at all–on the Destroyer's hull. Nevertheless, that also meant that there were trapped. But Bryan had an idea on how to get rid of that problem.

"Those shields are going to have to come down t–" Dena started.

"On it," Bryan interrupted. He aimed the assault shuttle at the command deck, and jammed the throttle to full. The acceleration flung him back against his seat as the shuttle rocketed towards the bridge at the center of the command deck. However, as he reached the half-way point, another idea came into his head, one that he was sure would bring down the shields instead of his original idea, which was to threaten Admiral Bengold. "Wait, hang on," he hesitated. "Never mind," Bryan said, cutting the throttle back and veering the shuttle in the opposite direction. For a moment, Maya was thrown from her seat while the rest struggled to maintain their balance. Pushing his feet against the bulkhead, Bryan kept himself upright as he heard the shuttle hull strain against the sharp turn. As he struggled to straighten the ship, he pushed the throttle to full again and blasted away towards the wedge-shaped bow of the ship. "Call Cano," Bryan said to Carlos. "Let me talk to him."

Carlos hesitated then handed a comlink to him from inside his belt. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do are you?"

"Best thing to do in this case," Bryan answered.

That drew some nervous breath from all of his rescuers.

"Rawling to Cano?" He whispered. "You there?" Cutting the throttle back, and turned his head to the back. "Keep firing," he said to the other three.

"Yeah," came the whisper. He _did_ sound young. "I heard you over the Imperial comlink. Did you get out okay?"

"Yes, Mr. Cano. Your friends did a good job. But I appreciate you the most Mr. Cano, for you volunteered to do, and I thank you. I will never forget this, and I'll make sure the Alliance doesn't either. Now it's time to blow the core. Do it, and goodbye and thank you again Cano."

--

Cano nodded to no one, turned off the comlink in his Stormtrooper helmet, and got ready to do his part of the rescue. But first, he had something else to do. He raised his blaster and fired off a shot at the nearest Stormtrooper guard, who was walking in the opposite direction, back turned to Cano. The trooper was hit in the back, and fell to the deck. But Cano didn't wait around to enjoy his kill. After he had fired the shot, he leapt over the guard rail, satisfied to have at least killed one Imperial personally.

He had always wanted to join the Alliance, but he never got the chance too; _Juniper_ was always too far out of Alliance territory.

Cano kept his finger pressed on the trigger as he fell. A split second before he impacted, he pressed a button on the waist of his armor, detonating the thirty pounds of sonic explosives attached to his chest and stomach, hidden under his Stormtrooper armor. And his body was being broken apart, his last thought was seeing Admiral Bengold's terrified face as the bastard died.

--

Bryan flipped off the comlink and waited, getting more and more nervous as the bow of the Destroyer was almost under the window.

Then the _Eraser_ exploded brighter than a thousand stars.

The command deck–and Admiral Bengold, Bryan hoped–was taken out in a flash, incinerated. The shields were down the moment it happened. There was a new problem though; the force of the explosion had caused the bow section to start into a flip, so Bryan jammed the throttle to full again, clearing the bow and blasting away from the wrecked Super Star Destroyer.

Bryan heard Maya scream in excitement, but that was nothing compared to Carlos's deep "whoop." He grinned proudly but kept his concentration on the controls.

Maya took off her helmet and wrapped her arms around Bryan's neck. "Nice flying," she complimented.

Bryan's joy suddenly dropped, and grin faded greatly.

Patting her hands on his shoulders, she then told him, "Set a course for _Juniper_. Coordinates 385 Mark 5."

Now free to maneuver, Bryan placed the shuttle into a roundabout curve, plotting the course Maya had dictated—which was right back in the direction of the other Super Star Destroyer, Vader's Destroyer, the _Gatekeeper_. "Thank you, and thank you for rescuing me."

Maya smiled warmly. "Your welcome."

"Good, now get your fucking hands off me." He reached up and wretched her hands free of his shoulder. Then, he turned and frowned, completely, at her. "In my book you're still a traitor. Now I am thankful for what you've done since but that does not mean you are forgiven or off the hook for what you have already done. You jeopardized the lives of hundreds of Alliance personnel and pilots, you jeopardized my life and Emilie's, whose supposedly your friend; Ambassador Vidarix was killed–"

"Now hold on a second–!" Carlos started.

"_That_ was all the Empire!" Maya shouted back, first, at Bryan. "They did all that, not me! They swore to me that they wouldn't hurt you _or_ Vidarix. I swear I didn't know. They also swore–!"

"Yeah, and they tricked you; fooled you!" Bryan shouted triumphantly. "Guess what Maya; that happens when you decide to trust the Empire; they fool you!"

Maya struggled to speak, her mouth opening and closing furiously.

But Carlos stepped up first. "Excuse me, Commander, but she just risked her life and the lives of five other people to save you from a holding cell _and _Darth Vader–!"

"Which is why we're going to discuss her innocence when we get back to the _Liberty_, assuming it's still alive. Now can we stop for now?" He pointed out the window in the direction of the _Gatekeeper_. "'Cause we're not outta this yet. Lucky you guys came along, 'cause it looks like I was about to be turned over to Vader."

No one answered him, all still tense from the short fight they'd had.

_Oh brother_, Bryan thought. He didn't have much time to think; the sensors were picking up numerous TIE Fighter contacts on intercept courses all over the grid. "Here we go. Keep up the fire guys." Bryan paid close attention the TIEs distance, now only four klicks away and closing fast. "All right..." It quickly closed to less than two klicks away, and Bryan felt his muscles tense. He counted at least twenty TIEs coming. "Get ready..." The TIEs reached 1.7 klicks away, and Bryan saw them start blasting away. He juked the shuttle towards the shots but took it below the first volley. Thinking quickly, he pitched the shuttle left, keeping one step ahead of the slow TIEs. After going left and then right for a few seconds, he then yanked back on the control yoke and brought the shuttle, the TIEs practically on top of it now, on a direct intercept course with them.

"What are you doing?!" Dena shouted.

"Best way to get rid of pursuit: charge 'em," Bryan answered. He fired his laser cannons and pushed the throttle to maximum, plowing straight into the immense TIE wave. The Fighters danced this way and that, shooting past the cockpit window, firing wildly. The shuttle fired back, it's eight guns tearing into the shield-less TIEs. Having soon cleared the TIE wave, he veered the shuttle sharply back onto its original heading, the throttle still at maximum. The _Gatekeeper _also started firing away at the shuttle with its powerful turbolasers.

"Bryan, get away from that thing!" Maya cautioned.

"I know, I know!" Bryan told her.

"No, no, not because of the guns! The tractor beam!"

Bryan's eyes widened. "Oh, shit! Forgot about that!" He turned the shuttle back towards the TIEs , who had now spread their numbers out. Then, he veered the shuttle to starboard, ahead of a warning light on the controls. "Just missed a tractor lock." Watching his monitor closely, he checked the ETA to the _Juniper_ coordinates. Four-and-a-half klicks to the jump; one minute—

And that was when the _Gatekeeper_'s tractor beam locked onto the assault shuttle. Bryan was jolted forward onto the controls, his head bashing into the cockpit window. Carlos, Maya, and Dena yelped in surprise as they were thrown from their chairs and onto the floor behind him.

"They got a lock!" Bryan shouted. He quickly pulled the throttle back to zero and off, and waited, anxiously, putting up a finger at the others. "Hang on!" He saw on the HUD that the TIEs were backing off, heading back to the _Gatekeeper_. "Wait, wait..." The tractor beam yanked at the shuttle, pulling it slowly. The TIEs got beyond the two-point-five klick mark, and Bryan sprung back into action. He brought up the controls to the shields and started fiddling around with the harmonic settings, rotating their frequencies so that the shields warped in and out of function. A second later, the warped shields caused the tractor beam to lose its lock, and Bryan jammed the throttle back to full, again tossing everybody in the ship. The shuttle was once again flying towards the _Juniper_ coordinates. It took the TIE Fighters a full five seconds to realize what was going on, and then turn around and pursue the shuttle again. They wouldn't be a threat anymore. Bryan checked the HUD again a few seconds later. Three-point-three kilcks now.

Using his best instincts, he veered and pitched the shuttle back and forth. The _Gatekeeper_ kept trying to lock on, but failed.

"Almost there!" Bryan announced. Under two klicks.

Five seconds later, the shuttle reached to under one-point-five klicks. Bryan thrust the hyperdrive lever forward, and watched with relief as the stars stretched across space and the assault shuttle plunged into hyperspace, escaping the _Gatekeeper_ and Vader.

--

"Bryan!" Maya shouted from behind the wall of energy that locked her in her cell, but it was no use. Bryan walked beyond the doors of the cell bay, not listening–nor not caring–and they closed behind him immediately. Maya sighed in disappointment and frowned over at Emilie Rodenski. "What is his problem? I saved him–I–I saved him from Vader, from torture...—" "I know," Emilie responded. "But that's the way he is. He doesn't like people who betray him, no matter what. Even if you make it up to him he'll hate you. Like I said, its just the way he is."

Maya sighed again. "I hope he's thankful at least. I lost some friends in that rescue. Very good friends of mine."

Emilie held up her hands in defense. "Don't worry, he is. He'll come around eventually. Just give him some time."

Maya breathed. "I hope he does."

Emilie nodded.

Maya started pacing in front of the energy shield. "So how long do I have to stay in here?"

"I don't know. I _should_ make you endure it for a month though..." She blew a lock of her hair out of her face. "But I'll only keep you locked up until the day after tomorrow. That seems long enough."

Maya nodded. "Okay." She looked her old friend in the eye. "I'm really sorry about this. I–I..." she let the sentence trail off, not knowing how to apologize for what she had done. "I'll pay for every one of these repairs if you want to, I..."

"You'd better be sorry," Emilie said seriously. "'Cause you've caused a lot of damage. I can't even BEGIN to tell you how angry I am at you for this. Ambassador Vidarix was killed; the _Darwas, _the _Gilgarin_, and the _Black Hawk _were destroyed—" she paused in exasperation—"A lot of pilots were killed, including my Commander, Bryan was captured, both the _Liberty _and the _Faith_ were damaged, the _Liberty_ _severely_ damaged, I–I–––You ever do this again and I will personally shove you out the airlock, you got me?!"

"Yes," Maya said quietly. "I—"

"You'll be lucky to get out of your trial alive!"

"I–I know...but did the chip verify? Is that good?"

Emilie nodded matter-of-fact. "It was, but you're gonna need a lot more than that to defend yourself."

"I know," Maya said more sharply.

"Good. I have to go now though. Think about what you've done in the next few days." Emilie gave her one last angry look then started back down the corridor, towards where Bryan had exited.

Maya watched her go in agony, now feeling absolutely ashamed of what she had done, especially after what Bryan had told her.

Originally, the Empire had threatened to destroy her station if she didn't help them capture Emilie and Bryan(they had found out about the diplomatic conference between the Alliance and the Koolians through an Autrellien informant). However, Bryan had found out through research that it was unlikely that the Empire would destroy _Juniper_. According to what he had found, _Juniper _was the only marketing outpost in the whole Gole sector. A majority of Imperial trade ships docked with it. If _Juniper_ was ever destroyed, it would throw off the entire Imperial trade in that sector, possibly beyond sanction. So even the Empire wouldn't dare touch _Juniper_ because of its trade value. Maya had known this and presented it to the Imperials, but they had shown her a location of three fake stations, and then went so far as to create artificial information about those fake stations which Maya had seen herself. It had been that that had convinced her to take the Empire's offer. She hadn't done enough research, and it had now made her end up in an Alliance holding cell with a trial for multiple crimes, including manslaughter and treason, in two days. But she wasn't worried about that at all. She had done enough for the Alliance to earn her freedom. She was more concerned about Bryan, and feared that nothing would ever change between them after this. She feared she had lost him forever. So she sat down on the cot in her cell, eyes tearing up, and just prayed to...to anyone listening, for forgiveness.


	19. Two Old Friends

5:37 P.M. _Sovereign _Cruiser

The dark sound vibrated off of the walls, cascading, magically, through and around every point on the observation deck. It flooded the area with a tangy, rich sensation that had a calming nature to it, an ability to relax a mind, any mind, every mind that had turmoil spinning through it.

But no matter how beautifully she played it, or no matter how fast and luxuriant, the song couldn't sooth Clara's thoughtful mind. She was trying as hard as she could, her arm practically numb from moving her bow up and down, back and forth, on top of the viola's strings, but she couldn't grasp the calming feeling of this song. She also didn't like it very much. The notes were almost always in the low bars, all either low C's, D's, and E's, with occasional low F's and G's, and, very rarely, some high B's and A's. The entire piece had no major cord at all, so that didn't help matters much, and made the entire piece sound unorganized. All in all, it wasn't a very impressive piece as some people had said.

Nevertheless, she still played on, with the hope that the end, which actually was a very decent ending, compared to the rest of the song, would ease her nerves. Pacing in a circle around the small area, she played the rest of the song from memory, having been taught it by her friend Ardly for a quartet concert she'd done once on the _Harvester_. The piece, entitled _The Joy River_, ironically, was one of over five hundred instrumental pieces, that she knew, that were part of the New Age of music.

Praised as being "the most magical and inspirational music renaissance in history," the New Age had been born only five years ago. It wasn't a "renaissance" at all; the bands, singers, rappers, and orchestras all played and sang the same sounds they had for decades. It was just the flavor of the songs that were different; they were more spirited, more uplifting. New Age music was popular amongst the Alliance. It symbolized the fight and drive of the Alliance, and it's neverending, untamed spirit.

So Clara continued to play it, regardless of whether or not it please her mood. She just wanted to play _something_.

Behind her, she heard the faint "swish" of the door opening, and Clara knew she wasn't alone any more. She even had a good guess of who it was. Expertly turning so as not to hit a bad note, Clara turned ninety degrees to her right, and her eyes fell on the man who had just entered. Sure enough, as she had guessed, Bryan Rawling walked in, watching her intently, with an interested smile on his face. He, like Clara, was amongst the very few people that served on Calamari Cruisers that knew about this little area they were both now standing in. It was supposedly a secret deck that led to the secondary armory. It was a mistake to call it secret though, for it was exposed to one section of the Starlight Lounge, as it overlooked the Lounge's giant observation level and window. But the area was so high up that nobody ever took notice of it.

Smiling her "hello," Clara picked up the pace of the current song, knowing that the only reason Bryan ever came up here was when he wanted to be alone. She couldn't blame him. This spot was very peaceful, not to mention the most acoustically tuned spot on most Cruisers. Except, in her case, for the _Harvester_.

For now, though, he stepped aside to one of the walls and sat down against the near wall, his eyes stuck on Clara.

The woman ran through the song, now hitting every note as well as she could since she had an audience. But, even though she tried her hardest, the piece still didn't calm her nerves. Distracted by her mood, she ended the song too sharply, and the last note came out very awry.

Bryan clapped his hands sluggishly.

Heaving out the air she'd been holding in, Clara dropped her viola and bow to her sides and shrugged.

Bryan sniffed out a few laughs and grinned thinly. "I didn't know I had that effect on people."

Clara smiled down at him and started over for her instrument case. "Really?"

Bryan started. "Oh, I do?" he laughed. "I was jus–I was just kidding. But hey, if you say so."

She placed her instrument inside the case, the bow next to it.

"Whadaya doin'?" Bryan asked. "You can still play if you want. Go ahead."

Clara shook her head. "No, it's all right. I'm done." She closed the case and latched it shut. "Besides, I need to get back to the _Harvester_. We're almost ready."

"Yeah we are, but could you hold on a minute?" Bryan asked, standing up again.

She turned to him. "Sure. What?"

"I just came up here to tell you that Michael finally got here." He grinned nervously, the anxious grin he always had when he was ready to be(or try to be)funny. "Intelligence may be good at everything else, but they suck at transportation. Damn ship had an engine blow out halfway through the trip." He chuckled, still very nervous.

Clara's expression turned iron. She turned her back to him and picked up her case. "Did he now?" she said quickly.

Bryan's shoulders dropped in exasperation and finally let go of his restraint. "Oh, will you please just listen to him? Just listen! You don' have to say a word; hell, you can close your eyes–you don't even have to look at him if you don't want to. Just listen to him...please!"

Stubbornly, Clara tried to think of something to say to that, running many different answers through her head and not liking any of them. So, she didn't say anything, and just threw her case strap over her shoulder, and started for the door. She didn't want to start an argument with him, especially not now.

"Hey, hang on a minute, wouldja?" Bryan said, grabbing her upper arm to stop her. "Would you at least _try_? Please? I'd like you to try; he'd like you to try!"

"Then why isn't _he_ up here?"

"Oh, come on," Bryan frowned. "You know the moment he walked in here you'd leave; you wouldn't even pay attention to him."

Clara shrugged. "Okay then." She started again for the door.

Bryan grunted out a sigh. "Fine. Be that way about it. And if he dies you'll eventually regret it."

Clara stopped and turned to him. "Oh please, don't start that. You always do that, and it annoying, so stop."

Bryan held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just tryin' to be honest here. You could die in this–or he could die in this. Either way, I'd think it'd be nice if you two could settle the score _before_ it's too late."

"Can we not argue about this, please!" Clara snapped. "I've been trying to forget it for the past seven years."

"Okay okay! Hey, I'm not tryin' to talk about what happened, just the _after_ of what happened, and that's what _he _wants to talk about."

"Then why isn't he up here? If he actually–!"

"'Cause he's afraid of you!" Bryan shouted. He figured that he had just interrupted activities down in the Lounge, but he didn't care. "And who wouldn't be, with the way you act!" He stared at her with crazy eyes, standing up to his full heights and shaking his head. "God, I mean you walk around everywhere stone-faced. Jeez..." he put his hands on his hips. "I'm afraid–I'm afraid to say something when your walking 'cause I'm afraid your gonna kill me! That's why he's not up here, 'cause he's afraid your gonna kill him! Not-not literally," he stammered, now looking like he was crazy, "But he's still afraid." He calmed down and his breathing slowed. "Clara you've got to learn to be able to listen to things that you don't want to hear." He paused and just stared at silent woman. "Just listen to him. That's all I want you to do...please."

Clara sighed in disappointment, and turned her back to him, starting for the door again. Behind her, Bryan groaned again, and shook his head. She stopped before she reached the door, and stared at him quizzically. "I'm about to go back to the _Harvester_. So you wanna say goodbye or not?"

Bryan returned her quizzical stare, but then his softened a few seconds later. That reminded him, he had to get back to the _Courage_ as well. He straggled over to her slowly. "Sorry. I meant to say that without practically exploding," he said, referring to his yelling a few moments before.

"It's all right," Clara assured. "You're just trying to help. Can't be mad at you for that."

"Well that's good," Bryan answered. Then hesitating, he added, "I'm glad I didn't go _too_ far," ––though truthfully he wasn't–– "'cause I was afraid you were gonna hit me," he said, gesturing to the viola case.

Clara smiled. "No, I wouldn't." He smile widened. "That hardly be satisfying enough. I was thinking more a support beam."

Bryan snickered. "Ouch. Good thing you didn't. A, that would hurt. B, I'd have to punish you for it. In fact, I think I'll punish you now for the hell of it. I'll think I'll take your viola." He reached out and grabbed part of the case's handle—

—and Clara brought her right arm around, placed the palm flat on his chest, and used it to shove him against the wall, pancaking him with only her hand.

Bryan looked down at the hand, faking a serious expression, then back up at Clara. "Or–or not. I mean, after all, it is _your_ violi–viola!" he quickly corrected. "Viola...Sorry."

Clara finally released him.

He stepped away from the wall, bending his throbbing back.

Clara set her viola case down on the floor, and threw her arms around him. He returned the hug warmly; and the two just hugged each other. All of their problems disappeared while this happened, all of their past fights, all their conflicts, everything bad between the two vanished.

They held the embrace for only a few seconds.

"Stay safe out there," he said meaningly as they parted.

"You too."

He nodded his goodbye. "See you out there."

Clara smiled warmly. "Bye." She picked up her viola case and walked out the door.

Bryan watched her until she was gone completely, knowing full well that this could be the last time he saw her. Sighing, he thought back to what they had been fighting about, and was reminded about how war changed everything, no matter what it was.


	20. Tale 4: Don't Cry Little Warrior

**Tale 4: Don't Cry Little Warrior**

Seven years before the Battle of Corpagia

1:32 A.M. Bates St.; Deser City, Jerethia Continent; Tunesean Colony 24(Sudia)

"This thing really brings out the details," Clara said in awe as she stared through the telescope lens at the planet Polodar, Sudia's sister planet. The jewel almost filled the entire view, as beautiful as a diamond, and glittering like a star. "That's pretty."

"Aye, that it is," said the smooth Irish voice of her husband, Lionel Thompson. "That beauty never really loses its polish if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Clara agreed in a tired voice. "But...why do we always have to stay up to look at it at one-thirty in the morning when it looks so much better at, like, nine or ten?" She asked, rubbing her eyes. "Or possibly when its warmer."

Lionel chuckled lightly, and wrapped her arm around her blanketed waist. "Sure, but the lights are usually their dimmest aroun' this time. And besides, you know I can't sleep on nights like this. Where there isn't a cloud in the sky..."

"Hmm," Clara huffed. "You have trouble sleeping on any night, or at least–"that wasn't what she wanted to say–"you should, considering how loud you snore."

Lionel laughed and scooted his chair next to hers. "Yeah, sorry abou' that. But that and the sky are only half of the reason I don't sleep at night sometimes." He leaned into her, pressing his cheek against her warm one. "The other half is you."

Clara snickered. "Oh, please," she said sarcastically, looking in the opposite direction.

Lionel smacked lips and nodded in understanding. "Ah." He smacked his lips again. "I see how it is."

She smiled humorously, but those muscles felt very heavy, as did most of her head right now. "Can we go to bed now? I'm tired." She shivered. "And cold."

"Sure," Lionel answered, grabbing the lens cap and placing it on the lens. He then threw his blanket off and over his shoulder.

As Clara forced herself to rise, Lionel hunched over and threw his weight against the telescope, picking it up, easily, off the ground. Hoisting it on one shoulder, he reached down and plucked up the plastic chair he had been sitting in, and placed that on his other arm. Clara stood up by her chair, staring at him anxiously. "Lionel," she whined, flapping her elbows and gesturing to her chair.

Lionel stopped in place and raised an eyebrow. "You're not _that_ tired are ya?"

Clara fed him her wide puppy-eye look.

The tall Irish man rolled his dark eyes, and extended his left arm, which he held his chair on. "Put it on."

She broke out into an energetic smile, and gladly stacked her chair on top. "I love you, you know, right?"

"Oh yeah, Clara," Lionel replied truthfully. "Or at least, you'd better."

Clara smiled lovingly at her husband, stepping closer and wrapping her arm around his waist. Laying her tired head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes and rested for the time being. They walked a long distance, up and down the hill––Lionel always looked at the stars from the view of the Garder Park hill across the street from their house.

Suddenly Lionel stopped walking, swinging his shoulder in an attempt to keep the telescope from slipping off. But he failed, and had to put the scope down to get a better grip on it.

Having lost her pillow for the moment, Clara stared seriously at her husband. "You should get, like, a _Hymus_ or something. That way you wouldn't have to carry as much."

Lionel waved off the suggestion with his hand. "Ahh, I don' need one-a those. This one's fine. Don' need all that–computer—automated crap; takes away the fun of findin' stars on yur own."

Clara shrugged. "Okay."

Lionel grunted as he re-hoisted the telescope on his shoulder, and resumed walking. However, he only took two strides before he stopped again, but not because of the telescope, but because of who he, and Clara, saw standing in the light of their front doorway. At this distance, the silhouette was nothing but a shadow pounding relentlessly on the door, calling "Hello?!" and "Clara?!" very loudly, disrupting the peace of the night and the silence of all the beautiful stars.

Lionel craned his head and started down the hill towards the house, Clara keeping step with him. "'Ey!" Lionel called.

The person knocking didn't hear him.

"'Ey!" Lionel called again, louder.

The figure, Clara guessed, turned around and stared in their direction for a while. "Lionel?!" came the shout in a baritone voice. "Is that you?!"

Lionel paused in suspicion. "Who are you?!"

"Michael Morano!" came the answer.

"Michael?!" Clara yelled in surprise. _What is he doing here?_

"Clara!"

_Who cares? He's here._

Michael finally came into view, his red hair very dark against the black sky, but nevertheless visible. However, that was basically the only thing that shone on him; the rest of his body was still hidden in shadow. He was still as thin as he always had been, and just as tall. As Clara and her old best friend embraced for the first time in years, her tired muscles and bones came alive again. She had been wanting to see him again for months now. Ever since his starship company had been sabotaged and then shut down, he'd been out of sight; vanished completely.

"Where have you been?" Clara asked as she broke the embrace.

Michael thought for a second, eyes scanning the sky, as if he was hoping to find an answer there. After a few moments, though, he shrugged. "Around."

It was now that she noticed that he was panting furiously. And he was hunched over slightly, like he'd just run a long marathon.

Lionel noticed it too. "Are ya all right, buddy? Ya look very tired."

Michael bent over, placing his hands on his knees and nodding. "Very." He pointed down the hill to the house. "Could we go inside?"

"Sure," Clara answered. "I'll get you some water when we get it. You look terrible."

Michael glanced over at her in exhaustion. "Nice to see you too."

--

Lionel stirred the last mug of juice quickly, with his Irish reflexes whirling the spoon to practically a blur without spilling any of the contents. Batting the steel utensil against the rim of the stormy mug, he set it down in the sink and lifted two of the three mugs into his hands. Clara and Michael's voices echoed from the other room as Lionel made his way out of the kitchen. Just as he entered the living room, his wife half-shouted "No!" in anger. The shout made Lionel start in surprise, and some of the liquid in the mugs splashed out of the mug and onto the wooden floor. "Whoa," Lionel cautioned, confused. Clara was glaring over at Michael, stone-faced in anger. Meanwhile, Michael had the expression of a beggar, only not on his knees. But by the desperate look on his face, Lionel guessed it wouldn't be long before he _was_ on his knees. It was Lionel who finally broke the awkward silence that followed the shout. "What's wrong?"

"He's a criminal!" Clara blurted immediately, pointing at Michael.

Lionel did a double take. "I beg yer pardon?"

"He's a criminal!" Clara repeated, again pointing to Michael. "And he wants us to give him asylum."

Setting the mugs on the coffee table, Lionel crossed his arms on his chest. "What?" He asked to Michael.

The other man turned his pleading eyes to Lionel. "I've been smuggling weapons and information to the Alliance for the past year. The Empire has me marked at number fifteen on their hit list."

Lionel raised an eyebrow. "Oh," he said passively. "Simply for smugglin'? Fifteen? That's a high number." His eyes stole a glance at Clara, who still seemed very angry. "What else ya do?"

"Does it matter?" Clara snapped. "Fifteen is high enough to have the Empire come after him in full force, not to mention half the bounty hunters."

"I also—" Michael started, then hesitated. After a moment of what appeared to be deep thought, he continued, "destroyed a Super Star Destroyer while it was still in dry dock." He looked down at the floor.

"Oh, I heard abou' that," Lionel commented. "The _Cobra _sabotage. That was you?"

Michael nodded anxiously. "Mmhmm."

"Hmm," Lionel sounded in thought. "And that's where yave been lately? I mean, ever since the company went under?"

Michael's expression darkened. "Yeah. I've been trying to get back at the people who sabotaged it, but ended up getting involved in the War. And now I can't find them anymore."

"I see," Lionel nodded. "And who ya searchin for?"

"Ledar Prill. He's Crystal Star. He and five other people from the Crystal Star were the ones who destroyed my factory on Deridia."

"Whoa," Lionel said in awe. "So it was the Crystal Star who shut ya down.?" He paused in disbelief. "So that's what happened to ya...don't know what ta say."

He went back to pleading. "I just need to stay one night, and then I'll be gone, I promise."

"No!" Clara said again, still retaining the sharpness in her voice.

Lionel fixed her with sour look. "Excuse me..." he cautioned, eyeing her seriously.

"Lionel! No! I don't want us to get involved in this war! Keeping him means we're hiding an Alliance—spy! We can't do that! No, Lionel!"

"It's only one night!" Michael snapped in response.

"Okay, okay," Lionel said quickly. He rushed over to his wife, wrapped both arms around her waist, and planted a kiss on her cheek. To Clara: "You. Calm down." To Michael: "You....enjoy that drink." Back to Clara: "You. Kitchen." He turned her around and gave her a gentle shove towards the kitchen entrance. "I'll be there in a minute."

"Lionel! No–!" she objected.

"Please?" Lionel asked, looking her straight in her beautiful eyes, trying to stare them down, even though he had never done that before. She always won the eye battle. But he didn't fail this time. A moment later, she sighed disapprovingly and stormed into the kitchen. Staring after her a little regretfully, Lionel turned back to the bewildered Michael. "Yu'll have ta excuse her," he half-whispered, moving closer to him. "She _really_, _really_ doesn't want ta get involved in this War. That's why we moved all the way out here; ta get as far away as possible as we could from the War." Pausing a moment, he continued. "I'll talk to 'er, though; see what I can do. Stay here though."

Michael nodded. "Okay. Tell her just one night. That's it."

Lionel nodded doubtfully. "I'll try, but no guarantees. Can I ask you a question though. Why did ya tell her all that bad stuff abou' you? If you wanted asylum, then ya shouldn'ta mentioned all that. Why'd ya do that?"

Michael stared at him defensively. "I'm not gonna lie to her. I'm one of her best friends. We've been best friends for years."

_Not after tonight_, Lionel thought. "Aye," he said in acknowledgment. He grinned. "Yore I a sucker for the eyes," he concluded.

Michael grinned in humor too. "Yeah..."

Lionel stood up. "So am I," he admitted under his breath. Sighing, he made his way into the kitchen, where he found Clara leaning on the counter top, staring at her husband with contempt. "We can't let him stay here, Lionel. We can't."

Always hating to argue with her, he tensely walked up to the counter and stared at her from across it. "Now Clara, he's desperate. Give 'im a break, all 'ight? He just wants ta stay for one night. We can let him–"

"No," Clara answered. "What if they find him here? He could stay in a hotel instead."

Lionel couldn't help from laughing at that. "Yure in quite a mood tonight," he commented off-hand. "If he goes to a hotel, him being number fifteen on the Empire's hit list; how long do ya think it'll take 'em to figure out 'hoo he is? Clara, you and I both know that hotels keep records of all their guests. Records, _and_ pictures, they check every time someone checks in. He wouldn't last an hour in a hotel."

Clara glared stubbornly at him.

Lionel could tell she was trying to think of another objection, but her mind was apparently drawing a blank. "It's just _one_ night, Clara. That's it, that's all he's asking. And," he added quickly, making sure she didn't get a chance to respond. "I think you really want him to stay here, even though he is an Alliance spy."

She turned away from him, looking down at the ground, defeated. "No, I don't want..." she sighed.

Lionel grinned, and stepped around the counter to her side. "Oh, yes you do."

She continued to stare at the floor.

"Just one night, Clara...then we'll discuss it in the morning."

Clara snapped her head up. "One night and he's _gone_ in the morning." Her fierce eyes bore up into his.

And Lionel Thompson knew the fight was over. "Fine," he surrendered.

"Okay," she agreed.

"I'll get 'im set up and everything in the guest room." He picked up his mug and took a quick sip of the Tunese mud tea.

"Mmhmm. I'm going to bed. Night," she said, giving him a short kiss.

"Night," Lionel said in return.

She turned her back to him and walked tiredly towards the stairs.

Sighing, he took another sip of his tea, and headed back into the living room.


	21. Tale 4: Part 2

Clara gently tapped her fingernails on her jeans, waiting patiently as the clerk finished writing on the paper. She was trying to distract herself, so she wouldn't keep thinking about how paranoid she was being right now. Michael had left after a quick breakfast this morning, but for some reason, she didn't feel safe even though he was gone. Her eyes scanned the office around her, flying across the wall texture and design, over the computers and machines, over the workers in the office, the cubicles, almost everything. Ever since he had arrived last night, Clara hadn't been able to sleep, relax, or feel comfortable. Though she loved Michael, as a friend, she couldn't help but think that the Empire was about to come down on her; arrest her, torture her since she had given asylum to someone who was considered a criminal. She knew that was unlikely, but she couldn't help thinking that it was coming to her, or worse to her husband, who she loved more than she could love anything. Trying to bring herself back to reality, she snapped her eyes back to the clerk, wishing he would finish up.

She got her wish.

The clerk finished writing his last letter on the paper, put his pen down, and handed her the paper. "There you go ma'am."

"Thank you," Clara said, folding the paper and putting it in her pocket.

"It'll be delivered tomorrow at around Three."

Clara smiled graciously. "Okay. Thank you again."

"Your welcome ma'am. Have a nice day."

"Thanks. You too."

"Thank you."

Clara walked, at a faster-than-normal pace, towards the exit, still very nervous. She felt unusually hot for some reason. However, as the doors to the post office swung open, a cool breeze of Sudia's clean air flew right into her body. Clara closed her eyes, allowing herself to be somewhat revitalized by the cold blast; so she was surprised when she heard a familiar baritone voice call her name from somewhere in the crowd.

Opening her eyes, she scanned the crowd, puzzled, not finding the voice at all at first. Then, much to her fear and dismay, she saw Michael rushing towards her though the crowd, a neutral look on his face. Clara took a step back, not knowing what to do. She didn't want to run away, which would have been very rude, but she didn't want to necessarily be seen with him either. _Oh don't be ridiculous_, she prodded herself. So she smiled wryly at him as he came out from the bulk of the midday crowd. "Hi," she said quickly.

"Hi." He stopped a few feet away from her, hesitating. "Glad I saw you. Sorry, I know you don't want to see me again, but I need to ask another favor."

Clara felt her heart skip a beat. "Okay," she said. "What?"

"Um, the transport I had booked had an engine fault this morning during takeoff. Latest I can get off this planet will be tomorrow, and I'm sure you know what the hotels here do," he said with dry laughter. He then got serious. "So I need a place to stay for another night."

Clara's heart skipped two beats, and she blinked. "What?" She said in disbelief.

He didn't answer, but simply stood where he was, afraid to say anything.

Clara shook her head. "No Michael. I can't."

Michael closed his eyes in desperation. "Please. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't have to but I have to. Please."

"Michael," Clara sighed in frustration. "No!" She let out a breath and started back for Bates Street and home. Nonetheless, as she had guessed, he followed her, still pleading like...like a criminal. _Oh shut up_, she prodded herself again. _He's_ _your friend nevertheless_.

"Come on, Clara. Just one more night. I wouldn't ask you—"

"No!"

"—unless I really needed it."

"I said no. Find someplace else."

"There is no place else. That's why—"

"No you can't. I'm sorry, but you can't. Your asking too much."

"How am I asking too much? One more night. I mean, it's not like–!"

"You're asking me to harbor you as a criminal, Michael." She laughed as she said "No" again.

"Come on. It's not like the Empire's gonna figure it out. I could be anywhere right now. We're light years away from them. That's why you chose to come out here, because you _are_ light years away from their territory—"

"That doesn't matter. They could have spies here. Anyone one of these people could be an Imperial spy."

Michael fixed her with a sour look. "Don't you think you're being a little naive for an adult?"

"What?" Clara snapped in return. She suddenly sensed the breath she had been holding and released it. "I'm sorry. But you have to understand. I don't want to risk getting involved in all this. I have too much to lose."

Michael rolled his eyes. "They're not gonna find me. As far as the Empire is concerned, I could be anywhere. Here, Degos VII, Earth...the possibilities are almost endless—"

"No!" Clara said defiantly. She turned away from him and started back up Market Street, not wanting to look at him anymore.

Nevertheless, he was persistent, and Clara didn't have a fondness for persistent people. "Clara, please," he pleaded, jogging up next to her. "Just one more night. That's it, I promise."

Clara wanted to explode in his face, for she was now as sick of his begging as...she didn't know. _As Bryan was a long time ago_, she thought with a humorous inner grin. But she didn't explode. She had to handle this with a calm attitude. Exploding would cause a scene probably. "No, Michael," she denied softly. "I'm sorry, but no. Now please stop following me." She accelerated her pace, walking faster up the road.

"You know you really want to!" Michael called up to her. "And you know they won't find me!"

But Clara ignored all his pleas, forcing them through one ear and out the other. He didn't follow her this time, her finally having gotten through to him, which was a great relief to her. Her mind slowly becoming at ease, and her thoughts less frantic, Clara now let herself enjoy the cool winds, taking in all the soothing cold air they offered. She preferred to walk to Market Street on beautiful days such as this. Sudia was a beauty queen in itself, it's breathtaking, lovely weather attracting tourists from all over the galaxy. Deser City was number two on the Tourist Guild's Sightseeing Guide to the Galaxy. And Clara could not have been more proud to live in it. She loved Deser City, and loved Lionel even more for showing it to her and then buying a house in it.

Checking to make sure Michael wasn't behind her anymore, Clara turned onto Bates Street and started for her house. Opening the door, she stepped in and took off her shoes, placing her green spring coat on a hook. Taking the post office slip out of her pocket, she quickly rushed upstairs and put the slip on the top of her bureau. Then coming downstairs again, she went into the kitchen to try and find Lionel. She wanted to make sure he didn't forget to put his telescope away. He usually forgot to.

There on the kitchen counter was a mug. Clara soon discovered that it was half full of Lionel's favorite, Tunesean mud tea. Shaking her head and almost laughing at how forgetful he could be at times, Clara turned towards the living and started for there, about to call his name when she stopped, her eyes locked ahead of her, on a spot on the floor in the living room.

A spot that was red. Blood red.

There were two of them. Two huge red spots in the middle of her living room floor. It was then that she sensed the fowl smell of fresh blood, and she suddenly became very scared. Walking gingerly towards the living room, Clara felt her body begin to shake. She finally forced herself through to the living room, and saw a trail of blood red spots, leading up to a blood-stained couch in the direct center of the room. With Lionel's body laid sprawled, telescope smashed against the coffee table, a giant, black, gutted hole in his chest, dripping furiously; fresh, his face stuck in a gaping, petrified stare at the wall.

Clara didn't hear her soul-wrenching scream a she ran from the room.


	22. Tale 4: Part 3

Ten minutes later, Clara was darting back down Market Street, going as fast as she could to reach the Fourth Precinct police department. Lionel was still laying, his slaughtered body still bleeding freshly, on the couch back at the house. Clara hadn't been able to bear looking at her husband like that again, and the communications in her house had been cut by the murderer, apparently. So, tears still streaming down her cheeks, Clara raced towards the police department at top speed.

People stared and gave her strange looks as she whizzed by them. Some actually looked concerned, and one or two even tried to talk to her. But she didn't listen to them. There was nothing they could do to help her. They weren't the police. They weren't anybody to her right now.

The Precinct now within her sights, Clara felt her speed increase, like she was running from the murderer.

And then, as if she didn't need anymore problems, she saw Michael looking at her from under a market awning. She turned her blurry gaze away from him, nearly slamming into a shopper, and ran by him.

"Clara?!" she barely heard him shout. "What's wrong?!"

She ignored him and kept pushing through the crowd, wanting to just be there so people wouldn't have to see her like this. And soon enough, she was dealing with Michael again, as he caught up to her in under a minute, asking the same as he had before. But she ignored him again, practically blinded by her tears now.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she reached the Precinct, practically falling through the doors. Regaining her balance, she shrugged off Michael's hand on her arm, and bolted straight through the front-desk line.

The crimson-and-blue jacketed officer started in surprise, saying something in his native tongue. "Ma'am, what's wrong?" came the voice from the translation box on the desk.

Clara realized she couldn't breathe, and hunched over the desk, trying furiously to cough out her words.

"Okay, ma'am," the officer cautioned politely. "Just breathe...what happened?" He gestured to someone behind him. "Seter!" he called.

"Myhusbaneenmurder!" Clara managed to spit out at last, so quickly that even she hadn't understood what she said.

However, the officer must have heard the word "murder," because he suddenly jerked around, his red Tunesean eyes staring down at her crying face seriously. "What'd you say, ma'am?"

Clara heaved out some breathe, and gathered some more, chest heaving and mouth sobbing. "My husband's been murdered." The last word barely escaped her mouth before she began to cry heavily, her throat as dry as a desert.

The officer's eyes widened. "Seter," he said to the new officer that came up beside him. "Don't you know her?"

Clara looked up, tears blurring her vision, straight into the wine red skin of Seter Garadel's Tunesean face. Seter was a family friend she and Lionel had met when they first moved here.

"Clara!" Seter said in alarm. "What happened?" he asked the other officer.

Not wanting to hear what the officer would tell him, for the pain would be unbearable, Clara covered her ears as the officer delivered the news to Seter, who was taken aback by it. He looked down at Clara's crying figure in shock and sadness. Rushing out from behind the desk, Seter cried back to the other officer. "Get a unit up to her house. Dash-dash-slash-four-colon-colon-eight."

"You got it."

"Get your weapons!" someone suddenly cried. All eyes snapped over to Michael, who had cried out. He was backing up slowly towards a wall, his eyes locked to something, or someone, outside the building, an expression of fear entombed on his face. He snapped his head around at the officers. "Get your guns! There's a bounty hunter coming!" He looked back out the door, and his eyes widened. From outside came the sound of a laser firing. A moment later, Michael dove to the ground as the laser blast burst through the "blaster-proof" door, shattering the glass. The immense laser went straight through the spot where Michael had just been a second ago, and then proceeded blow a huge hole into the far well, shaking the whole floor.

Seter cried out. "Assault! Assault! Assault!" He grabbed Clara and half-carried her to behind the desk. The other officer and about fourteen of his comrades rushed to the front desk as screaming from the civilians escalated to practically ear-piercing. Seter ordered Clara to stay where she was and got out his handgun. He and the other fifteen officers rushed past the desk.

A few seconds later, Clara heard them return fire to whoever was assaulting the station. She guessed it was Lionel's murderer, and that he or she had followed her from her house. Wiping her eyes, Clara peeked her head out from behind the desk, risking a glance at the battle. As she did this, she heard Seter cry out again. "Bombs! Bombs!" The officer's bolted away from the main floor as more civilians screamed at the warning. Clara saw six tiny cartridges roll into the center of the floor, and she ducked her head back behind the desk as they all went off at once. She screamed as the orange flames hit the desk and roared over above and on both sides of her, the desk shielding her from any harm. Closing her eyes, Clara endured the force of the blast until it was gone. When she opened her eyes, the floor around her was ash black, and the edges of the desk had been singed off. Not moving, Clara began to shake ferociously, fear gripping every muscle of her body. She stared ahead at the empty offices, tears streaming down her cheeks again. Gathering up what courage she had, Clara once again peeked her head out from behind the desk again. The scene beyond the desk made her throw up in her mouth. The floor had been turned into an immense crater from all the bombs, and all the officers, including Seter, lay unconscious or dead all around. Some were bleeding profusely, one's neck looked like it had been broken, and two had holes gutted into their chest. Michael was no where in sight.

_Like Lionel_, Clara realized in sick fear as she stared at the gutted officers. It was her husband's murderer that had indeed followed her. Rising to her full height, she finally saw the murderer appear. The first thing she noticed was that the man was a Fedrellon. Like all Fedrellons, he was tall and muscular, his arms like cannons, his thighs and legs as large as light-weight pillars. His face was sculpted like a devils face, his lips long and stringy and orange, his eyes like a cats, and his nose small and long. The hair was long and brown and curly, and his body was encased inside a layer of lizard-like, green skin.

Clara stood up to her full height as the Fedrellon walked in, carrying a long, powerful-looking laser gun in both hands. His small eyes scanned the station, falling on Clara almost immediately. She didn't dare move, didn't dare to do anything except put her hands in surrender. He pointed his laser at her, and Clara prepared for her death by closing to her eyes. At least she'd see her beloved Lionel again soon.

But nothing happened.

Clara opened her eyes to find him just staring at her. He hesitated.

"No, you're too pretty to kill. I'll deal with you on my way out," he said in a ugly deep voice.

"Stay away from her, Cinnigis!" Michael shouted from behind a wall on the far right.

The Fedrellon named Cinnigis whirled his weapon around and fired a long blast at him. Michael ducked behind the wall as the shot went past where he had just been. Again the floor shook. Satisfied that he had some time, Cinnigis used his free hand to un-holster a handgun and point it at Clara's head. "Get out here!" he ordered her.

Clara didn't even hesitate following the man's orders, wanting to rip his head off and see his blood trickle onto the floor. As she was coming from behind the desk though, Michael reappeared for a moment and fired off a few shots from a police handgun at Cinnigis, but missed. Cinnigis didn't fire back though. He was still waiting for Clara.

"You try that again and I blast her head off!" he shouted at Michael. "You idiot! You should'nta told me to stay away from her! You know how I can't resist the urge to piss you off Michael!"

_They know each other?_ Clara thought. Then she remembered what he had said earlier. "'There's a bounty hunter coming!'" he had shouted......

Then she saw it. On Cinnigis's ring finger. A plain golden ring, with what looked like the phrase "LC Thompson" carved onto the rings polished surface. Clara knew what it was the moment she saw it. It was her wedding ring. Lionel and her had agreed to have their initials carved into it as a gift to themselves on their wedding day.

Now she was sure. "It was you!" she shouted at Cinnigis. "You killed my husband!" Every part of her now wanted to tear this villain apart with her bare hands, but she held that urge back, knowing she would be killed if she tried that. And she wanted to live, to avenge her husband.

Cinnigis continued to stare over at Michael's spot, but talked to her. "Oh, so you're the wife of that man on Bates Street?" He finally looked over at her for a moment. "He really loved you," he said with a devilishly smile. "That ring though. That's a keeper." He chuckled. "And I'm keeping it."

At that moment, while Cinnigis was still looking at her, Michael jumped out from behind the wall, targeting the arm that the Fedrellon had extended at Clara, and firing. Cinnigis's return shot was pre-emptive and missed Michael, but Michael's shot caused Cinnigis to have to move his arm, and gave Clara the time she needed to fight him. She instinctively reached down and grabbed the energy baton of one of the dead cops, jabbing it onto the green skin of Cinnigis's waist. The baton sent a shock through the bounty hunter's body. As he yelped in pain, his attempted shot at Clara's forehead whizzed over Clara's scalp. He started to fall to the floor as a result of the shock. Michael fired too soon and missed, allowing Cinnigis to fire back with his huge laser. The gun and what seemed to be a couple of Michael's fingers, judging by Michael's painful reaction of grabbing his hand and crying out, flew off and were vaporized. Cinnigis began to regain his composure, so Clara had to think quickly. But as time flew by, she decided only one thing: run. And so she bolted through the shattered glass doors, and back out onto the dumbfounded crowd of Market Street. Michael soon followed, and the two ran as far away as they could from the crazed Cinnigis.


	23. Tale 4: Part 4

Cinnigis Kaylor the bounty hunter didn't stay down long.

Ever.

And certainly not by the man he was hunting, that annoying Michael Morano. _And that bitch friend of his_, Cinnigis thought as he quickly rubbed the spot where she had hit him with the energy baton. Getting up, he once again reared his XX-Mark laser gun, and ran out the police department after Michael.

By now, a large crowd had gathered around that station, gazing in shock at the wreck. When Cinnigis stepped out carrying his gun, they all screamed and ran away from him, falling and tripping over each other. It made the man laugh at how puny and insignificant they all were. _When all else fails, fear prevails_, the Fedrellon thought with a smirk. Standing up tall, Cinnigis peered over all their heads, searching for his bounty and his friend. It didn't take long. One of the things that always made Michael easy to find in a crowd was the man's unique red hair. Very few humans had it. As soon as Cinnigis saw the top of his curly hair, he knew exactly what direction to go, and started down Market Street, past the dozens of screaming people; past the bar where he had been drinking when he saw Michael standing inside the police station. Out of the corner of his eye, Cinnigis saw another blue-and-red jacketed cop run out from the crowd, gun drawn. He dubbed the man as an amateur, especially after he just started firing away without thinking. Cinnigis simply ducked, took aim, and fired a second later. The Tunesean cop screamed in terror as the laser blew his upper body to shreds of skin and blood. The gutted cop was thrown a meter in recoil, and landed in a clump, his wine-red blood staining the ground under his flight path. Cinnigis calmly rose from his knees, and started away at a run towards Michael's direction.

He didn't get far before more retaliation came, though; this time it was the civilian crowds, the ones who were supposed to be running. A majority of the men and a small group of women charged towards him, arms ready open and ready to try and restrain him. Cinnigis almost laughed at how pathetic and stupid these people were. He armed his gun again. Once they saw him doing that, most of everybody skidded to a halt and started running back in the opposite direction. Cinnigis just grinned and squeezed the trigger, then twirled in place, letting the laser circle the open space. At least a dozen were bloodily cut down, with more injured, some very severely. He then changed the gun's setting, and a second ring of grenades secured itself over the laser shaft. Pointing the gun into the air, Cinnigis fired another rack of six grenades into the air. He then ran farther down the street past the retreating crowd, as the bombs descended onto the crowd and exploded, sending bodies and then body parts flying around Market Street. Cinnigis reset the gun back to the laser.

Stopping at an fork in the road, Cinnigis scanned both directions for any sign of his bounty. That inconvenience with the crowd had cost him more time than he wanted. The bounty was no where in sight amongst the running crowds. Frustrated, Cinnigis activated his tiny torso jetpack, and let it guide him off the ground, giving him a better view of each direction from up high in the air.

And there he was–again easy to find due to his red hair–down the right fork.

Cinnigis smirked and powered down his jetpack, letting himself down easy. Once again, the crowd occupied the road, all running like a ripple in water. They were still in the way though. So Cinnigis brought his gun back up. "Move!" he shouted, and squeezed the trigger. The blast went deep into the crowd, shearing one man and child to pieces, and clearing a path down the street. He didn't waste anytime, charging down the road after them.

--

Michael pointed Clara to a shop at the end of the row, and they both ran towards into, both anxious to get out of the crowd, as it was hard to move with it. The shop—or rather the tavern—was completely empty. Not even the owner or any of the workers were there. Some chairs were turned over, tables knocked down, and there were spilled drinks and broken glasses everywhere. A lone, abandoned automobile was parked out the back entrance.

"Watch your step," Michael uselessly cautioned.

Clara noticed that the tavern had a sea theme. The place was decorated sea food and amphibians native to Sudia as well as other Tunesean planets. Miniature models of boats and yachts decorated the bar and the tables, with fish nets of all sorts hanging on some of the walls. There was also what appeared to be a champion harpoon gun in a wall case behind the bar. Clara pointed it out to Michael. "Get that," she told him. "Your better at using guns than I am, I'm sure," she said with dry humor.

Michael went back to the entrance and peered down the street. "No. Guns don't work against him for some reason. I've tried it a million times."

Clara looked at his face as he stared out the door at what might of been Cinnigis. And as she did, the reality of what had happened in the past half-an-hour came back to her. All at once, the memories came back to her: her beloved husband lying gutted on her living room couch, seeing the weird looks people gave her as she passed through the Market Street crowd, crying, her wedding ring–the only connection she had left with Lionel–on Cinnigis's finger. It didn't take her long to realize the one sole factor that connected all the tragic events; all the crying, all the running, and all the pain.

Michael.

Clara could never remember what happened in the next few moments, only the anger building up in her system, and Michael shouting "Clara, what are you doing?!" When she snapped back to reality, she found herself having Michael pinned against the door jam, hands gripping his throat, nails digging into the back of his neck. _What _am_ I doing_? She thought. But she tuned that thought out, letting every bit of her anger seep out. "He's after _you_ isn't he?"

"Clara–!," he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, trying furiously to fight her off.

"He's a bounty hunter! Of course he's after _you_!" she half-shouted into his face.

"Please, I didn't–!"

"Why wouldn't he be? You're number fifteen after all!"

"No–!"

"You said–you said–you said they wouldn't find you, that they'd never figure it out! So much for that!"

He gritted his teeth again and finally managed to get a good grip on her hands, able to pull her nails out of his neck, but not release her grip on his throat. "I'm sorry about Lionel," he said in a raspy voice. "I really am—!"

"Oh, so now your sorry–!"

"—but strangling me won't help you right now. What's happened will still have happened, and Cinnigis will still be coming this way." He looked her dead in her angry eyes. "I know how to fight him." He managed to wretch hands off his neck, struggling. "And you don't."

All at once, her anger started to subside. The furious tears welling in her eyes dried, and the adrenaline stopped pumping. She snatched her hands out of his, releasing him, and rubbed the blood on her fingernails on her jeans.

Michael keeled over against the door jam, rubbing his bloodied neck with his palm, and then wiping the blood onto a metal table, yelping slightly and breathing heavily. For a moment, he glared up at her, the hate in his eyes almost matching the hate Clara had had the moment before. "Sorry," he said in respite.

Clara said nothing in response.

He stood up, staring out the doorway. His eyes widened in fear. "He's coming!" he whispered. He jogged into the tavern, eyes frantically searching the room for anything he could use against the bounty hunter. They ended up falling on one of the many nets in the room, and the automobile parked out back. Then suddenly, a twinkle appeared in the eyes and a slight grin on the face. "I've got an idea. Listen."

--

"Hurry up!" Clara shouted as she stared directly into the distant face of the green-skinned Cinnigis. He smirked at her, and raised his gun. Clara ran back into the tavern as the laser blast slammed into a wall behind her, cutting through the wall in seconds and impacting the back wall, shattering many different drinks and melting the harpoon gun in the case.

Michael ran back in from outside and signaled her with a nod. "Ready," he said as silently as he could. He looked her sternly in her eyes. "Be sure to grab that beamer if you can."

Clara nodded. "Got it."

"Oh boy!" they heard Cinnigis yell. "Can't wait to see how you're gonna try and stop me this time, Michael! You're not a hider!" His voice was getting closer. A second later, he blasted another hole in the wall of the tavern. Clara and Michael ducked out of the way, Clara making sure to back into one corner of the tavern. Michael picked up the nearest piece of metal he could, and brought it up and around like a baseball bat, ready to swing. Cinnigis walked in, and immediately fired off a blast at Michael, who barely had anytime to dive out of the way.

Using his time wisely, Cinnigis scanned the tavern for Clara, and found her a second later in her corner of the tavern. He chuckled. "Well hello again. Be with you in a moment." That distraction worked flawlessly.

Michael was up in no time, wielding the metal rod in his hand. Moving faster than Cinnigis had obviously predicted, he slammed the rod against the bounty hunter's head before he could retaliate.

Clara didn't waste any time. She bolted out of her hiding spot, right at the man who murdered her husband. And Cinnigis–unbelievably–didn't see her. His anger at Michael caused him to focus on his bounty, and he forgot about Clara. So as he charged after Michael, she reached in and soundlessly pulled off the beamer on Cinnigis's belt—the one device that allowed the man to beam directly back to his ship. He didn't notice at all. Clara grinned victoriously and backed away to the other end of the tavern. Now it was up to Michael.

--

Michael ducked to dodge a shot from Cinnigis's handgun, then jumped onto the front door of the parked automobile, which he had turned on. He then turned on his acting skills, and pretended to loose his footing on the door, giving time for Cinnigis to catch up a little. Regaining his footing as Cinnigis fired a second shot, Michael leapt over the interior of the convertible automobile, and landed on his knees on the street on the other side. He quickly reached inside his trench coat and pulled his small personal pistol, as Cinnigis climbed onto the front door of the automobile. Michael fired off a shot while simultaneously ducking to avoiding the return fire. Meanwhile, his shot hit on the inside of the front door, causing Cinnigis to lose his balance and fall into the drivers seat, right where Michael had laid the net from inside the tavern. As Cinnigis struggled to rise and untangle himself, Michael had already begun moving back to the driver's side of the automobile. He grabbed the steering wheel and turned it towards the guard fence on the other side of the road. Opening the door, and making sure he didn't entangle himself in the net, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the automobile streaked across the wide road, nearly hitting another automobile. Once he had built up enough speed, and Cinnigis still struggling against the messy net, Michael let go of the accelerator, dodging Cinnigis's flailing hands, jumping backwards out of the driver seat and slamming the door shut. He fell hard onto the road, and rolled a few meters.

The automobile smashed into the guard fence–solid rock–and blew straight through and then down, splashing into the river twenty meters below.

Michael watched this, grinning widely in victory. But his moment of joy ended quickly, when he spotted four large green fingers grasping the edge of the rock fence. Instincts kicking in, Michael jumped to his feet and brought up his pistol, running towards the wall. Another hand appeared next to the other one, and Cinnigis began to pull himself up from the side of the wall, head coming up first, then upper body. Somehow he had gotten out of the net. But Michael didn't allow him to even get that far. He fired off a shot, hitting the bounty hunter square in his chest, and knocking him back over the wall, wounded. But once again, Cinnigis managed to keep one hand hanging onto the wall, holding on for dear life. Michael was about to shoot that off when he saw Clara's ring glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Setting his gun down, Michael reached into another pocket in his trench coat, and pulled out his small pocket knife. With precision and quickness, he sliced off the finger with the ring on it. "This is very dear to Clara," he told him. "You can't have it." With that, he set the ring in his inside pocket, and picked up his gun again as Cinnigis struggled to climb up the wall. With calmness, Michael shot the hand, slicing off two more fingers and causing him to lose his grip. As the defeated bounty hunter fell towards the river, Michael fired one last shot off, which impacted Cinnigis right in his face. The force of the blast caused him to fall head over heels, his body looking limp and dead. Michael watched him until he fell into the river, and waited until his unmoving body drifted to the surface and floated there a while. Michael, not feeling the pain of his severed fingers, which had been even more bloodied when he had used that sharp metal rod, breathed proudly, having defeated one of the most fearsome bounty hunters in the galaxy. For good. But it wasn't for his sake anymore. _That was for Lionel Thompson_, he thought as he stared at Cinnigis's dead body. _And Clara_. Speaking of which....

Michael patted the wedding ring inside his trench coat reassuringly, and ran back towards the tavern to find Clara and see if she was all right. As he beamed his victory, he searched for Clara inside the tavern—

—and couldn't find her. She was gone. He called her name several times but got no answer. She had disappeared. All he found was the beamer she was supposed to have stripped from Cinnigis, on the floor near the door.

Michael's mind raced to find an answer. She wouldn't have abandoned him. No, no, no....yes it had been partially his fault that her husband was dead, but she must have known he never meant for that to happen. Or at least he hoped she knew.....

Dammit, where was she?!......


	24. Tale 4: Part 5

By now, Clara was getting sick of unwelcome surprises: coming home to find her husband dead, being chased by a crazed bounty hunter...

And now being dragged, mouth gagged by a hand, back up Market Street by a mysterious man who had walked in and grabbed her soon after Cinnigis had gone out after Michael. She had no idea who he was, and she had never seen him before anywhere. So those were the first questions running through her mind as he pulled her past the shops along Market Street, not talking and walking rather quickly.

Finally, after they were deep into the confusing crowd that was still present in the street, he stopped and released her.

Clara whirled around and started attacking him, arms flailing. "Get–away from me!" But he easily caught them in only a few seconds, and held her at bay; again.

"Calm down Mrs. Thompson," the man said calmly, his deep brown eyes staring mildly into hers, jet-black hair blowing peacefully in the cool wind. "I am—"

"Help!" Clara cried as her arms continued to be restrained. But no one came to her rescue.

"They won't help you."

"You don't know that! Help!" she tried again. But again, no one came. Not even Michael, who there was absolutely no sign of.

"Yes I do, Mrs. Thompson. I am Agent #10 of Rebel Alliance Intelligence," he said.

Clara suddenly stopped struggling and finally looked the man in his eyes. They betrayed no lies, gave her nothing false.

Still gripping her wrists, the man continued. "I was sent here to make contact with Mr. Morano, and escort him back to the Alliance."

Clara wretched her hands free, finally. "Then why do you have me?" She jerked her head towards the end tavern. "He's back there."

"I know. I came to you because I don't want you to die, Mrs. Thompson."

She took a step back from him and blinked. "What?"

"The Empire is hunting Morano. Cinnigis contacted them before he came here–we intercepted his transmission–so he'd get his pay fast. Which means that the Empire is on its way right now, Mrs. Thompson."

Clara didn't know what to say. Her mouth just opened and closed, with no sound coming out.

The Agent clasped his hands in front of him. "It won't take them long to figure out what happened to Cinnigis. And then they'll come after you. For housing an Alliance spy for a night."

"I didn't want to!" Clara stepped forward. "I didn't want to at all. I don't want to get involved in this war..." The sobs started coming back. "It was my husband..." the tears clouded her vision again.

"It's okay, Mrs. Thompson. I know. And I'm sorry about your husbands murder. If you want, I can have the Alliance compensate you in whatever way you'd like."

"Compensate?" Clara almost laughed. "My husband—is dead." She stopped to breath.

"I know, Mrs. Thompson, and again I'm sorry."

"And I don't want any compensation from the Rebel Alliance!" she snapped. "It's your fault he's dead! Michael was followed!"

"Morano isn't affiliated directly with the Alliance. He's a free lance infiltrator we hired for a specific job."

"He's still working for _you_, though!"

"Yes, but he didn't murder your husband. Cinnigis did. He didn't mean for your husband to be murdered, so you can't blame the Alliance for what happened. It was Morano's choice to go to you, not ours."

Clara just gave him a furious look and didn't say anything.

"You don't have time to argue with me Mrs. Thompson. The Empire's on its way. I suggest you leave this planet as soon as you possibly can." He stepped closer to her. "It's a little early to say this, but welcome to the Rebel Alliance." He stuck out his hand in anticipation of a shake.

Clara didn't give it to him, just stared at him like he was insane.

He simply stared back, then dropped his hand, and proceeded back down Market Street. "Good luck Mrs. Thompson."

"Wait!" Clara called after him. "I have no place to go! That was the whole reason me and Lionel moved out here, so we wouldn't have to go anywhere!"

He turned his head back to her as he walked. "I just gave you someplace to go! You have the transponder code to one of our cruisers! Go there!"

"Wait, what?!" Clara called, puzzled. "No I don't! What are you talking about?!"

The Agent stopped. "Bryan Rawling sent you a transponder code to one of our cruisers at your wedding, probably if you ever needed help you could call him. He sent the code inside..." he stopped in thought. "Inside what I believe was a goldfish?"

Clara just stood and stared at him for a moment, trying to grasp and make sense of what he just said. It didn't take her long though, until she knew what he was talking about. When she figured that out, she turned her back to him and started farther up Market Street, turning right when she reached Bates Street. She was heading for her house again.

Bryan Rawling had been a high school classmate and childhood friend of Clara who she thought she'd never see again after they graduated. However, she was proven wrong when he showed up as Lionel's college roommate–a shock to Clara when she found out. The two, Lionel and Bryan, were roommates for two years, and were, according to Lionel, "the best actin' duo on the campus." Clara had been to a number of improvisation shows starring Bryan and Lionel, and she had to admit, the two had worked very well together in their time. Lionel had invited Bryan to their wedding–rumor was he even offered him the best man spot–but he wasn't able to come because of his duties to the Alliance. So he just sent the two his gift, a lovely set of duranium dishes and crystal glasses. But he also sent Clara a personal gift, a five inch tall goldfish. It was meant as a joke pertaining to an event that had happened when they were in middle school. The goldfish had come with a note from Bryan, reminding them that if the they ever needed a place to go, he'd be there to help. A nice gesture, if not a strange one coming from a Rebel Alliance officer. And now that she remembered, the goldfish was hollow and its mouth was open; wide enough for something to fit inside.

So Clara bolted up Bates Street as fast as she could. She came in through the front of the house again, staring ahead the whole time, holding her breath because of the smell of blood from Lionel's body. Luckily, the path up to her room didn't involve going into the living room.

Clara found the goldfish exactly where she had left it; exactly where it had been since they'd moved here. She kept it as a decoration on top of her bureau. And there it stood, on its stand, mouth open. She grabbed it, flipped it upside down, and shook it furiously. Nothing came out. But when she looked at it again, she saw the folded edge of a small piece of paper braced against the open mouth. Sighing in relief, she placed the ends of her fingers on it and pulled it out and opened it.

And there was the code, in Bryan's ridiculous handwriting. Frequency 12.13; 866325 Blue. The transponder code for the Cruiser _Faith_.

_God bless you, Bryan_, she thought as she made her way to the nearest commercial comlink she had in the house. She entered the code, and five minutes later, after an argument with the _Faith_'s Captain, spoke to her old friend once again. She told him everything that had happened, managing not to cry this time. He told her what to do, and an hour later she was blasting away from Sudia in the _Irish Charm_, the ship that Lionel had bought before their wedding.

Two days later she landed inside the hangar of the Alliance Frigate _Salvation_.

Three weeks later she enrolled in the Pilot Training Program on the _Peace_.

Two and-a-half months later she flew her first mission as a pilot.

Three-and-a-half years later she became certified to fly a B-Wing.

Four-and-a-half years later she was transferred to the Cruiser _Harvester_.

Five-and-one-quarter years later she destroyed the Empire's superweapon, the _Punisher_.

Six years later she was promoted to Colonel.

And all the while, she never forgot a single instance of the event that changed her life forever. Clara loved the Alliance, but would give it all up if Lionel could've come back to life.


	25. Memories Hurt

5: 48 P.M. _Dalaman_ Cruiser

The two men sat in peace in the center of the dimmest section of the Starlight Lounge. They're glasses set firmly on the table, still half-empty with plenty of time to settle. Silence emanated from both, and eye contact was minimum. Body language was all but mute.

This was what Kenny Ferdan preferred to do the most during his downtime. Silence and loneliness. No one disturbing him, no one wanting to disturb him.

The crowds were gone; all nonessential personnel having been transferred to civilian ships that would remain behind and not fight. Only a few pilots still remained in the Lounge, most of them having already reported to the hangar. A vessel's Commander was usually supposed to be prepped forty-five minutes before a mission or attack, but Kenny wasn't this time; and he wasn't worried about getting in trouble for it either—considering the man he was sitting with was the cruiser's Captain.

Kenny raised the glass to his lips, and again enjoyed the tangy taste of his non-alcoholic Galamanian Fruit Margarita. The drink was famous for it energy-giving properties, the likes of which Kenny loved thoroughly. So as the drink wet his tongue again, Kenny Ferdan sat back in his chair and sighed in satisfaction.

"What do you think of this attack, Kenny?" Captain F'ter'yu asked him randomly in a monotone.

Kenny looked at him then away. "I don't know. It sounds okay, but so did the plan for Deil Nine," he said wryly.

F'ter'yu snickered. "That's true. I don't know. I think we're jumping the gun a bit." He gestured outside the window to the fleet. "That's almost two-thirds of our fleet. If we lose this...we're gonna be in serious trouble."

Kenny shrugged as he took another sip. "This war has to end sometime. The sooner the better. I mean, if we get a chance..." he took a soft breath. "We should take it."

F'ter'yu's Trisalkan whiskers twitched. "Maybe." His eyes snapped up to Kenny's face. "Didn't you used to like the Empire?"

Kenny nodded. "I didn't really care up until..." he let the sentence trail off for a bit. "You know."

"Mmm," F'ter'yu said in understanding.

"I used to like them when I was a kid," Kenny said with dry humor. "But back then, it wasn't real. It was a just a movie." He smiled. "I had a shirt that had the pirate symbol on it, but instead of the skull in the middle of the two bones, there was a stormtrooper head."

F'ter'yu laughed slightly. "You humans _do_ have a weird taste in fashion."

Kenny shrugged carelessly, taking another sip. "We don't care."

Suddenly, from the other side of the Lounge came a staunch amount of cheering and clapping. Kenny looked over and saw his Lieutenant Second, Darisha Farls, move away from the crowd of cheerers and start up on stage.

The mike was basically open now, to anyone who wanted to perform. So Farls, a Caldoran, walked briskly onto the stage, her Gerdiril—the Caldoran version of a guitar— strapped around her shoulder. She grabbed a stool, and sat in front of the microphone. "Hello everybody," she said rather shyly. Pushing a lock of her dark hair out of her face, she continued, "I'd like to play one last song before everybody has to go to the–to the hangar. I wrote it myself. I–it's called 'Never Forgotten,' and I wrote it in honor of my father, Oren Farls, who died in the Sloman Massacre." She scanned the crowd, her eyes falling on Kenny for a moment, before clearing her throat and playing the solo that started her song.

Kenny dunked the rest of his drink down his throat, then slammed the glass on the table and got up quickly. "I need to get the hangar." He looked over at F'ter'yu. "And you should probably be getting to the bridge, sir."

The two exchanged nods as F'ter'yu rose and stuck out his hand. As Kenny shook it, F'ter'yu said, "Good luck Commander. And be careful."

"You too, sir."

As Farls sang the first lyrics, Kenny walked, rather fast, out of the Lounge, not wanting to hear her song; not wanting to remember, or even be reminded of, the Sloman Massacre.


	26. Tale 5: The Sloman Massacre's Warrior

**Tale 5: The Sloman Massacre's Warrior **

Four-and-a-half years before the Battle of Corpagia

10:32 P.M. Crystal Star Syndicate Freighter _Dooliir _

"We're calling the thing the 'Oh, shut up!' treaty," Danielle Bonard told her husband with a laugh. "Because they talked so much."

Kenny raised his eyebrows. "The 'Oh, shut up!' treaty. That's a nice name. I hope you didn't actually tell them to "Oh, shut up!,' did you?"

She made a face at him. "No. That's mean and I'm not mean. Do you think I'm mean Kenny?"

Kenny pretended to think for a moment, causing her to gape in shock and awe at him. "I wouldn't put it past you," he commented.

"Bastard," she said quietly, looking away for a moment. The light reflecting off her face gave Kenny another chance to admire his wife's beautiful Italian features, something he liked to revel in often. One of the things he'd always liked about her beauty was her long black hair; which was why he was somewhat disappointed that it was still pulled up and back, in the style that all Alliance Ambassadors wore.

"Well you can't always be nice during negotiations," Kenny commented. "Otherwise you'd suck as an ambassador, and you don't."

Danielle smiled sleepily. "Thank you." She sighed. "So how are things in the Crystal Star nowadays, hon?"

Kenny shrugged. "Nothing interesting to tell. It's actually been pretty boring over the last few days." He smiled crookedly. "That's all I can really tell you. Sorry."

"It's all right," Danielle smiled brightly, her sudden cheerfulness causing Kenny to smile. "What?"

Kenny shrugged innocently. "Nothing."

"Oh come on, it's never 'nothing' with you. What is it?"

Kenny was about to respond when her terminal suddenly beeped.

"Excuse me Ambassador."

"Hold on, Kenny," Danielle said, pressing a button on her terminal. "Yes Captain?"

"Sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but we've arrived at Sloman."

Danielle nodded. "Okay, I'll be up in a minute." Cutting the transmission, her eyes turned back to Kenny, sending a slight tingle through his system. "I have to go now. Duty calls," she said with sad contempt. "I love you. Bye."

"Love you too. Bye." With a loving smile, he cut the signal, and the video screen went blank, as did his mood for the moment. _I wish I could be there with you,_ Kenny thought. That was what he had wanted to say; and then she got called by the Captain. _Be there in your arms_, he thought again, reaching up high and stretching his tired arms and tightened back. Boring is hardly the word he would use to describe the last few days; or at least today. He had been helping the tech crews transfer a shipment of supply crates carrying heavy duranium alloy to another delivery freighter all day. Since the tugs were all damaged, the work had to be done by hand. In what would have taken the tugs thirty minutes to do, Kenny and three-fourths of the _Dootiir_ Crew took six hours to move one hundred crates of duranium. His muscles hurt; he knew they'd be sore in the morning. And the environmental controls were down,—this ship seemed to always have glitches— so the temperature in all the rooms was in the forties; very cold. _Could use those arms right about now_. He felt kind of bad, lying to his wife like that, but he'd nearly been thrown out from the Crystal Star twice for telling her so much as where he was. Having an Alliance Ambassador for a spouse and being a Commander in the Crystal Star Syndicate didn't make for detailed conversation that often. Kenny had decided a while ago that he didn't want to join the Alliance, even when Danielle had enlisted in the Alliance's diplomatic Corps., and he supported her decision as a loving husband should, even though it meant that they wouldn't be together often. It was a hard marriage to maintain, but he loved her very much and she loved him very much; so they managed the hardships and time apart over the years.

It was that sense of loving security that made him able to lie to her like that, making sure that those were the only types of lies he ever told her.

Kenny shut down the terminal, and then tightened his coat even more around his body. Watching his breath come out as fog, he stepped over to his bureau to start getting changed and then go to bed. A few minutes later, his head hit the pillow, mind still back on Danielle. Also running through his thoughts were his decisions regarding his marriage: supporting Danielle's diplomatic career, not being able to see her very often, joining the Crystal star...

He shrugged the thoughts off . _"So is the life we live. So is the life of a bandit."_ That was his Captain's philosophy, and it was a good one.

Thoughts at peace, Kenny rested his worn out body.

--

The next time he opened his eyes, he was screaming at the to of his lungs, adrenaline flowing through his veins. His ears were more open to sound now then they had ever been, hearing everything from the soft hum of the engines to the tiny sound of the energy flowing through the power conduits. He even thought he heard the late night music session going on in the ship's bar, which was a deck below him and far away down that corridor. The nightmare had come and gone, and for some reason he couldn't remember it at all. All he knew was that it had scared the shit out of him. Kenny suddenly felt very vulnerable, and he swore someone was in the room with him, hiding in the closet or as one of the many shadows that were cascading throughout the room. He checked his forehead; no sweat, and he certainly didn't feel hot. He felt cold, colder than he had when he had gone to bed. It was either the temperature of the room or...or something else. The next moment, however, he saw a green light on the heater controls, which meant that the heater was now working again, and then he heard the heat being blown into the room. So it couldn't have been the temperature. Then again, it could have started a minute ago...

"Kenny?! Are you awake yet?!" came the shrill voice of Rax Hollafer, the ship's Captain. Shaking his head in attempt to get rid of the blackness slowly taking over his eyes, Kenny listened again for the Captain's voice, wanting to make sure that he had heard right.

A few moments later: "Kenny?!"

Kenny threw back the covers and hopped out of bed, dashing for the comlink, still feeling confused, and slapped the button on the control box. "I'm awake!" he said, now realizing that he was panting as well.

"_Fala_ it takes you a long time to wake up. You on sedatives or something?"

Kenny rolled his tired eyes. "No," he said groggily, struggling to find something else to add. "B-bad dream." He glanced over at the clock on his bedside.

1:01 A.M.

Rax snickered. "That's ironic, 'cause you'll never guess what's happened."

"What?"

"Get up here. You'll wanna see the news reports."

"What happened Rax?"

"I'll tell you when you get up here with us. Rax out."

"Wait—" Kenny tried to interject, but didn't get time, as Rax cut the transmission. Sighing in exhaustion, he stepped over to his bureau to change out of his pajamas.

--

The doors to the _Dooliir_'s bridge parted, and Kenny saw that whatever was going on was big, as the bridge was full of different Crew members, barely any of them doing any work; all staring at the video screen on the bridge's front-center wall.

"—iance has yet to make a statement. We've been told that President Gillia himself will give a statement explaining the Alliance's position at the bottom of the hour."

Kenny stopped two steps onto the bridge, turning his eyes to the vid-screen. A Bingin female, her long ruby-red hair cascading down her shoulders, was sitting up on the right side of the screen, looking into the camera, eyes alive with sadness and concern. In the upper left hand corner of the screen was a graphic box that had the words "Breaking News" in plain red letters. On the bottom of the screen was a news ticker streaming across the screen. "President Gillia will make a statement in regard to the Sloman occupation at 1:45 A.M. Sloman time."

Kenny eyes widened, and suddenly the whole situation became ironic, exactly as Rax had said. It was too ironic. Kenny was wide awake now. "Sloman occupation?!" he exclaimed, his gaze darting over at Rax.

The Captain started at the shout and turned to him, along with everybody else on the bridge. "Yeah," Rax answered. "They took it over during the night."

"Is Danielle all right?" Kenny asked in utter fear.

"I don't know," Rax responded. "I dunno know if she's dead, I don't know if she's alive; I don't anything right now. All I know is that Vader was behind it."

"Vader?!"

"Yes. The _Gatekeeper_ was the ship that lead the strike force. Along with a carrier and a Interdictor Cruiser."

"Wha-Wha—?" Kenny stammered. "Why? It's a civilian station. Why'd they take it over?"

"We don't know yet," Rax answered. "The Empire hasn't given a reason, though it'll probably be horse shit anyway."

"What's the news say? What's their opinion?"

"They think what we think," Fark Vinher, the _Dooniir_'s Karferran driver, replied. He looked Kenny dead in the eye. "Your wife."

"Danielle?"

"It makes sense," Rax added. "She's pretty famous now for what she did with the Knasians. Ya gotta expect her to be higher up on the Empire's hit list."

Kenny nodded slowly. "The 'Oh, shut up!' treaty," he said softly.

Rax raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. A name D gave the Knasian treaty."

"Ah," Rax said.

"Did someone tell the Empire where she was going?"

Rax shrugged. "We don't know," he said slowly. "We _won't_ know until more information starts coming in."

Kenny had a thousand more questions buzzing through his mind, but he knew that asking them would be useless; Rax wouldn't know the answers. No one would.

"Come on Kenny," Rax said, stepping up to the Captain's chair and sitting down. He gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit down. Try to relax if you can."

"She's been captured by Darth Vader," Kenny responded seriously. "Would you be relaxing?"

Rax considered this. "Probably not, but until we know more...we have to sit down and wait."


	27. Tale 5: Part 2

One week later: 3:25 P.M. _Verry Sloman_ Colony

Ambassador Danielle Bonard didn't even bother to struggle against her guards anymore. She'd been dragged around Sloman Colony like this for the entire week of its occupation; two stormtrooper guards, one on each side, firmly gripping her small arms, with her hands in stun cuffs. She didn't let them see the pain she was in though. Far from a "damsel in distress" was she, especially when it came to being a prisoner. Especially when it came to being a prisoner for the Empire. She hadn't ever been scared of them; or Vader or the Emperor—none of them. They were unethical cowards who killed for their own ambition, their own selfish reasons, be it for power, wealth, or both. And Danielle thought that anyone who would be afraid of such lowlife's should be ashamed of themselves. There was nothing to be afraid of.

_Or so I tell myself..._

Holding her head up, the guards lead her through the double doors to the operations center. This was where all the decisions regarding the safety and operations of the colony were determined; that is, before Vader had killed the crew and used it as his personnel command and observation deck. So when Danielle first laid eyes on the back of the "Dark Lord"'s helmet, she wasn't surprised to see him staring out the window, almost looking peaceful. The man—or whatever he was—who had slaughtered thousands in the past week just stood there, looking as dangerous as a gnat. It would have been hard to believe that he was who he was for anyone who had never encountered him before.

However, the rest of the room was completely empty besides him. No controllers, no officers, no other bodies at all.

_Maybe they're getting ready to leave_, Danielle thought. _In which case...that would be bad thing for me. For us all._

The stormtroopers walked her over to him, Danielle still not putting up any fight whatsoever. She was always a diplomat in these situations; when aggression was called for was when she used it. They stopped her a few feet behind Vader, and then stepped back and remained motionless as he turned around to face Danielle, the light reflecting off his black eye covers.

"Yes?" Danielle snarled at him.

Vader just stared back at her, his breath as dark and mysterious as ever. "Don't be so feisty, Ambassador. Remember, _I _am in control of your life."

Danielle just stared defiantly into his face plate.

"Your resistance cells have put up a impressive fight against me, but we'll soon be rid of them," he said darkly. "We are done here. And they will all die now, as will you Ambassador."

Danielle felt her heart stop for a moment, and she swallowed, not breaking her stern expression though. "The Alliance will retaliate swiftly for this, you know." _That sounded a lot like "my last words" would_.

Vader remained in the same strong position. "The Alliance is weak, Ambassador. They will fail to stop me, or the Emperor when the Empire takes over this galaxy. The Alliance will die."

"No they won't. Not if you keep losing like you did at Dile II and Saqat," she said with a mock smile.

"The Knasians are not a threat to us, Ambassador. They are weak like you, and will fall. The battles at Saqat and Dile II will become insignificant once the Empire takes control of this galaxy."

"So you admit that you lost those battles, even though your fleet outnumbered the Alliance two-to-one in both?"

Vader remained unmoving, and didn't move.

Danielle smirked. "Your not as strong as you think, _Lord_ Vader." She looked up at him some more as he stepped forward; closer to her. "You're the weak one in this fight. And the Alliance will use that against you until your Empire has been completely abolished. Which shouldn't take long with the way things are going for you right now; what with your losing and all."

"Princess Leia had the same attitude when she was on board the Death Star. I urged Tarkin to terminate her, but he was weak and hesitant."

Danielle snickered. He was lying; she'd seen _Star Wars_ before. It had been Tarkin that wanted Leia dead, and it had been Vader that urged _him_ to keep her alive, until she would revealed the location of the Rebel on Yavin Four, which she never did.

Vader reached for his belt, Danielle's eyes following his hand all the way to the hilt of his lightsaber. "This time, Ambassador, I won't let the weakness of others get in the way of my wishes." He unclipped the weapon from his belt and thumbed it to life. The magenta blade flew out of the one end, stopping an inch away from the bridge between Danielle's eyes.

The Ambassador felt the adrenaline flood into her system as she felt the hot presence of the blade soak into her skin. It burned. Her eyes snapped away from the blade and back up to Vader's neutral face plate.

The Dark Lord raised his free hand, fingers flexing, like grabbing hold of an imaginary object. All at once, Danielle's body froze where it was. As hard as she tried—and she tried hard—she couldn't move. Vader had her by her heart, using the Force to keep her still as he lowered his blade to the center of her chest. And then thrust it forward.

Danielle didn't know how to think anymore. The pain was overbearing as the blade sheared her heart and flesh into cinders, and broke through her spinal column and out of her back. She opened her mouth in an attempt to scream, but nothing came out except for a yelp of pain and suffering. Closing her tearful eyes, she gritted her teeth as Vader slowly removed the blade from her body. As he wretched the blade free, Danielle's body yearned to surge in reaction, but became more aggravated and hurtful as Vader kept her still.

Manipulating her again, Vader lowered her, then forcibly bent her knees—another painful shock to her body—so that she rested on them. He then pulled his lightsaber back into a cutting position behind his back.

Although blackness was already starting to cover her dying eyes, Danielle was still alive to see Vader made the cut.

_Kenny!_ she thought as the blade swung around and sliced into the side of her neck.

--

Lord Vader released Ambassador Bonard from his Force grip, and her head rolled away from her body. He calmly thumbed off the lightsaber, and clipped it back on his belt. Without even a second thought, he turned on his heels and started for the center's exit, the two stormtroopers marching behind him. He walked to the docking bay, and then onto his personal shuttle. Five minutes later he was on board the _Gatekeeper_ again. Once all personnel were cleared, the bombs his men had placed inside the Colony's core were detonated, destroying the Colony and its inhabitants, with the _Gatekeeper _and the Interdictor Cruiser _Hammer_ blasting any large pieces of debris that remained.

And thus the Sloman Massacre was put into history.


	28. Tale 5: Part 3

9:34 P.M. Same day. Crystal Star Freighter _Dooliir_

Kenny Ferdan sat dead.

Or at least, that's how he felt as he sat in his chair, hands placed normally on the armrests.

His teary eyes were glued to the large screen. The rest of his body was motionless, feeling empty and weightless and cold, like space. The face was pale, and it was apparent that all life had been sucked out of him.

The pictures that the news station was broadcasting of what remained of Sloman Colony, from the Alliance Cruiser _Urenstad_, were almost impossible to take in. Millions of pieces of debris were still flying in all directions, away from where the mighty colony once stood. Pockets of frozen liquids and gases drifted colorfully along with everything else; and together the image painted a dreadful picture in Kenny's mind, one he knew he would never forget for the rest of his life.

_D..., _he thought as his eyes searched the debris field for any sigh of–of—of anything positive; optimistic. _Danielle_.

"Again," said the voice of the Bingin anchorwoman, "No survivors have been found as of yet. The Empire—hold on here, folks, I'm getting more information on...okay; ladies and gentlemen we're going to now cut to a broadcast about to be made by Rebel Alliance President Gillia...from an anonymous location—President Gillia."

The broadcast of the debris field switched over to one of a sturdy Caldoran, seated upright in a black leather armchair placed in front of a solid wall. The wall had on it the red, winged insignia of the Rebel Alliance.

Kenny guessed it was the President's actual office, and not the press room he always used when making statements. What planet or station it was a mystery though.

The President's crimson-red eyes twinkled sadly as he began his speech. "Citizens of the galaxy, I speak to you now as a mourner to the Sloman Massacre; as the officer of justice that will punish the criminals behind this unprovoked and murderous attack. I say to you today that the Rebel Alliance will–not–let–this–stand! The Empire has gone too far this time, my friends."

"Eh," Kenny groaned in annoyance.

"The slaughter of twelve million—"

"Turn him off," Kenny said somewhat angrily.

"—innocent lives is–is–is inexcusable and absolutely outrageous, even for the Empire."

Kenny tapped two commands into his armchair console, and the screen went blank as Gillia finished his sentence. "The Alliance'll end up getting blamed for this anyway," he said coldly. "It _was_ their fault for sending D there."

"Don't blame the Alliance for this," Rax said intellectually. "They couldn't have possibly known that the Empire knew where she was."

"That's not the way the people are going to see this," said Fark Vinher, staring over at the Captain. He gestured to Kenny. "They're going to see it like he does. And he may be right."

"Sloman Colony _wasn't_ an Alliance—outpost," said a Crewman to Kenny's left. "It was neutral."

"But it agreed to host Ambassador Bonard," Rax pointed out, "when it didn't have to. The Alliance didn't _force_ them to do that."

The Crewman thought about this for a moment. Then she shrugged in agreement.

"But the Alliance knew the danger," Kenny argued, "they _knew_ the risk. I can't believe _why_ they would take a risk like that."

"To—" Fark started.

But Kenny continued. "Especially with one of their own Ambassadors."

"To promote peace probably," Fark suggested. "Them being the Rebel Alliance, ya know."

"Hmm," Kenny huffed. "That's why I didn't join either one of the sides. They're both stupid."

An awkward silence proceeded after that comment.

Until Kenny broke it. "Can we go there, Rax?"

"Where? Sloman?"

"Yeah, the debris field."

Rax exchanged glances with Fark. "Why do you want to go?"

"To find out what happened."

Rax hesitated. "Wha–what do you mean?"

Kenny stood up and stepped down from the small command terrace. "Every station has black boxes; recorders and...junk like that. I wanna see if we can find those, so we can find out what happened exactly." He paused and let them all take in his request. "I want to know exactly what happened to my wife, how she—died and–and what not; and I also want to try and—naw nevermind. But we still have to go. Please Rax?"

The Renevan Captain stared back at his Commander with sympathy and thought. "I'll have to think about it. You know it's out of the way right? We need to be at the Yorun system in one day."

"Yeah," Kenny replied. "But she's my wife, Rax. I love her, and I want to know what happened to her."

"There's a slim chance that we'll find anything, black box or no black box, that tells us what happened to her, Kenny," Fark commented.

Kenny rolled his eyes in frustration. "Can we just go and see for ourselves? Please? It's only five hours away."

"What if that Alliance ship is still there?" Rax asked. "It may attack us, and I doubt they'll believe that your Ambassador Bonard's husband; a Crystal Star."

"I can prove it," Kenny insisted. "After all, I _do_ have a copy of the marriage license."

"Those can be forged easily nowadays—"

"And a lotta pictures too, or did you forget that WE'RE MARRIED!" He shouted. "It doesn't take much to prove that."

"Pictures can be artificially created and changed easily too," Rax retorted. "Unfortunately for you, we live in a very sophisticated time."

Kenny didn't break though. "Could we just go and see? Rax, I _have_ to know. I'm her husband; Crystal Star or no Crystal Star."

Rax sighed quizzically at his Commander. "Okay," he said at last. "But I'm still going to run it by Mandla first. Okay?"

"That's fine."

--

5: 49 P.M. Next day: _Dooliir_

The durasteel doors opened and, for the seventh time in six hours, Captain Rax Hollafer walked into Kenny's quarters. "Anything new?"

"Only one thing since you _last_ asked me," Kenny said in annoyance.

"Well sorry, but Captain Haulit is getting impatient. He wants us gone."

"Well then—" Kenny stopped in mid-sentence. "Can I talk to him for a minute? Is he free?"

Rax blinked in surprise. "Uh, mmmaybe. I don't know. I think the sooner we get out of here, the better, though."

"We'll leave," Kenny said plainly, looking over at him. "I just want to talk to him for a minute."

"I can't guarantee anything," Rax said. "But I'll ask him."

"Okay." He turned back to the monitor, which was showing a frozen image of Vader igniting his lightsaber in front of Danielle; one frame of the hours of film he had watched in the past day. Lucky for Kenny, the Empire hadn't known about these recorders, which made Kenny wonder exactly how much Rebel Alliance activity had gone on aboard Sloman Colony. _Well no matter how much there was, it still doesn't justify what they did_.

"Well," Rax said from over his shoulder. "That doesn't look good."

Kenny _hmfff_-ed. "Keep watching." He pressed the play button again, and looked down at the terminal top, as Rax watched the tape proceed, sound muted.

"Oh," Rax said in disbelief and horror. "_Fala_, I'm sorry Kenny. I—I don't know what to say."

"Nothing's fine," Kenny answered. He jabbed his finger into two separate buttons, and the monitor went blank. "She'd been withholding information from him. Secrets of the Knasians, the resistence cells that appeared after the Empire took the station, Rebel bases, Rebel codes; all the stuff an Alliance Ambassador should know plus a little more. That's the only reason he kept her alive for an entire week. But, her being D of course, she didn't give him anything." He stared up at Rax. "Nothing at all. So once the resistence cells were destroyed, he killed her and destroyed Sloman."

"Why'd he wait? I mean, simple way to get rid of resistence is to just knock them dead in one blow."

Kenny didn't answer at first. "I think he was hoping to attract some attention from the Alliance. Some sort of big retaliation. But he didn't get it. So he left, and used the excuse that Sloman was an Alliance base."

Rax chuckled. "That was smart. He doesn't actually expect the people to believe that all twelve million people were Alliance supporters?"

"He doesn't have to worry about that. He's Vader; they're the Empire. They don't have to worry about a damn thing."

"Well, he may soon," Rax replied. "News is sayin' that the swing planets aren't liking this, and neither are the neutral planets. The Empire's gonna have a serious problem on their hands soon."

"We can only hope," Kenny responded.

"Ohhhh, it will. They went too far this time."

"Hmm," Rax agreed. "So what are you planning on asking Haulit?"

Kenny was hesitant to respond.

"Nothing too controversial I hope."

"You sound scared, man. _Are_ you scared?"

Rax narrowed his eyebrows. "Of what?"

"The Rebel Alliance; Haulit."

Rax look disgusted at first, then changed to a lighter expression. "Normally no. But that task force outnumbers us _eight_-to-one. Even with all those torpedoes we have, we'd still lose; and I'm not interested in fighting them."

"Neither am I. And we won't. I just want to ask Haulit a question."

"What question?"

Kenny took in a deep breath and thought, and then sighed at last. "If we could join forces." He stood up, a full head higher than the short Renevan. "And hunt down the bastards that did this."

Rax's thin lips parted wide and he laughed humorously, as if he thought Kenny was joking. "Are you crazy? They're never going to go for that. We're just as bad as the Empire to them—you–you blamed them for the Sloman Massacre remember, and now you want to join forces with them?"

"Now we both have a common enemy to fight."

"No no," Rax rambled. "_You_ have a common enemy to fight. The Empire didn't kill _my_ wife or anybody else's on this ship."

"You don't have a wife."

"That's not the point Kenny. The point is we're gonna get killed if we try to go after Vader. His ship is the _Gatekeeper_ remember; a Super Star Destroyer?! I mean, we're no match for that thing and you know it; now why do you want to do this?"

Kenny glared at him. "She was killed in cold blood!" he exploded. "Stabbed through the heart and then decapitated in _fucking_ cold blood!"

"She was an Rebel Ambassador," Rax replied calmly. "She's nothing to Vader but a Rebel."

"Shut up!" Kenny shouted, shoving him at the collar. The scrawny man barely managed to keep his balance as he was pushed several meters from Kenny. "You don't know anything about love or marriage!"

Rax braced himself against the window sill and slowly rose back to his full height. "Listen, I respect your trying to be a hero here Kenny, I really do. But I am _not_ going to risk this ship or it's Crew just so you can _try_ and satisfy your need for revenge. I'm sorry about Danielle. I'd bring her back to life if I could but I can't." He straightened out his shirt. "If you want to throw away your life, you can. But you will be alone."

Kenny shook his head at the Captain. "Fuck you then." He started for the exit. "I'll talk to Haulit anyway."

"What?! Kenny! Remember who's—!"

The doors closed, and Rax yelled his sentence to the walls. "—the Captain on this ship!"


	29. Tale 5: Part 4

9:01 P.M _Dooliir_

Captain Rax Hollafer watched, with sad eyes, the light from the Ences system's sun reflect off of the badge in his hand, the intense beam bearing up into his dilated pupils.

The badge's numerous spiked ends jabbed comfortably into his fingers, it's circular shape filled with a white clearness now looking empty without its host. The light bounced off in such a way that it seemed as though the badge were crying, knowing itself to be useless now. Kenny had worn it proudly during his time but had now cast it away, for a reason that Rax had barely been able to believe, and the badge might have not believed either if it had a soul.

Rax gently placed the badge down on his on his desk and rose out of his soft chair. His mind racing in thought, the short, confused man walked over to his mediocre-sized window, and stared out at the Cruiser _Urenstad_, floating peacefully next to the drifting wreckage of Sloman Colony. He wondered at it; how had he lost his best Crewmate to it? What was its appeal? Fun? Adventure? The thrill of the ride? To fight? To feel like a hero? Revenge? _Yes, that's it_, Rax answered himself. _That's what he wants, and the Alliance is the best way to get it._ He clasped his arms behind his back, not being able to take his eyes off the Cruiser. _Lucky Rebels_, he thought with a smile.

At last, the power of compassion had come full circle to Captain Rax Hollafer. As a Crystal Star merchant with a ship of his own, Rax had been forced to make decisions many times involving situations like the Sloman Massacre, where passion and revenge were sought by his peers. And through them all he hadn't allowed himself to get carried away by his emotions and revenge. His Crew may not have liked it, but Rax had always decided in the best interest of his Crew and ship.

He had played it safe on so many different occasions.

The Captain thought back to his most decisive decision: letting one thousand refugees on a passenger ship die instead of risking his ship to try and save them. He hadn't let his emotions get the best of him then, and let go of his compassion. The event had haunted him in his mind and his nightmares for years, and the sinking feeling that had rushed into his heart then was returning now, as was his compassion.

Rax turned away from the window. He picked up the badge and then placed it in a drawer inside his desk. Determined to help, he walked out of his small office and started on the quickest route to Kenny's quarters where, last time he had checked, Kenny was still packing his things. He need to talk to his devoted friend.

--

Kenny was closing up his suitcase when the staunch Rax rang the door chime.

"Who is it?"

"It's Rax. Can I come in please?"

"Sure."

The door opened and Rax darted into the room. "I'll help you," he said immediately.

Kenny looked away for a moment and the back at him. "With what?"

"Oh, you know what. Hunting down Vader and the _Gatekeeper_. Punishing them for what they did to your wife, and everyone else."

Kenny grinned and was about to respond when all of a sudden, the red light above his doorway started flashing and the alarm klaxons blared over the speakers.

Rax pulled out his comlink and switched it on. "Rax to bridge! What's going on?"

"A bunch of Imperial ships just dropped out of hyperspace on the other side of the field!" Fark Winher replied frantically on the other end. "The _Gatekeeper_, two Imperial Star Destroyers, and an Interdictor Cruiser! Bearing Mark 448-440 on an intercept course. Suggest you come to the bridge, sir!"

Rax and Kenny exchanged alarming glances as Kenny stood up to his full height. "I'm on the way. Tell the pilots to launch as soon as they get to their ships!" He burst out into the corridor, nearly running into a Crewman. "Reveal the launch bays!"

"Got it, sir!" Fark acknowledged.

"ETA to attack range for the Imperials?"

"Rax!" Kenny called from behind him.

"Seven minutes, thirty seconds!" Fark answered.

"What!" Rax called back to Kenny.

"I'm goin' down to fly," he responded, shoving past to Renevan.

"Fine," Rax said. He went in an opposite direction, then turned back after a few moments. "Looks like you get your revenge after all, Ferdan!" he called with a grin.

Kenny grinned and put a thumbs up to Rax behind his back. _This is for you D_.


	30. Tale 5: Part 5

"Foils in attack position," Kenny ordered. He reached up and pulled on the activation string. From inside the cockpit came the sounds of dozens of servos and gears twisting and moving like a tiny factory inside the frame of the Crystal Star's version of the X-Wing, called the Omega Fighter, or O-Fighter. On both sides of the cockpit, in response to immense work by the gears and servos, the craft's two giant wings parted into three separate airfoils. The two larger ones opened up into a wide V formation, while the much smaller third part opened up ninety degrees horizontally, giving the final formation a W-like shape.

All around him, the other eleven O-Fighters followed suite, and a few seconds later, the entire squadron was ready for action.

But first thing was first. "Hailing Rebel Commander, this is Omega Leader, Kenny Ferdan of Crystal Star Freighter _Dooliir_ speaking. Over."

"Copy you Commander Kenny Ferdan, this is Commander Duno Raedy of the Cruiser _Urenstad_," came a scratchy alien voice. "Nice to meet you. Those Omega Fighters you boys are flyin' over there?"

"Yes, sir," Kenny responded, somewhat cocky. "Primary grade."

"Nice," Raedy responded. "Always wanted one of those."

Kenny veered the joystick left towards the two dozen Rebel Fighters flanking the debris field. "Thank you. But, sir, I'm not a Commander anymore. I joined the Alliance an hour ago. Just happened to be on the _Dooliir _when these guys showed up."

"That's understandable Mr. Ferdan. However, until you start wearing our uniform, you're still Crystal Star to me. No offense."

Kenny hesitated. "None taken."

"Hey, Kenny," said a different voice, belonging to Tiley Jighthawk, Omega Two. "You're still not our Commander anymore, so I'm sorry but you're not in charge. Rax put _me_ in charge now."

_Damn it_, Kenny thought, _I resigned too soon_.

"I didn't say that, Colonel Jighthawk," Rax snapped , surprising Kenny. "You heard the Rebel Commander. Until Kenny wears an Alliance uniform, he's still one of us, which means he's still your Commander. Nice try though."

Kenny smiled. _Yeah, nice try_. "Okay, Commander Raedy. Mind if we join your fighter screen."

"Go ahead Commander. Fall in right beside us. And good luck."

"Thank you, you too. Ferdan out." Kenny said, pulling alongside the lead X-Wing belonging to the man he was talking to. He looked across at him; and saw the features of a Pollasir male; short with a fat face and chunky hair. Raedy looked across at Kenny now, and the two exchanged nods. Then Kenny looked ahead, as the Imperial ships loomed on the horizon of his canopy. He opened the comlink again, this time to his squadron. "All right boys and girls. Here's what I expect. You treat these pilots like your own friends, 'cause as of right now they are. I expect you to cooperate with them, no matter what you _think _of the Rebel Alliance. I hope you guys get it." He paused for a moment. "Now let's get into formation."

The O-Fighters maneuvered into position around Kenny, forming a V, similar to what the Alliance was doing, only there's was much bigger considering they had more ships to work with.

"Tune into the Alliance channel for orders," Kenny ordered. He did so himself. Immediately, as soon as he had flipped the switch, the sound of another man's voice came over the com. As he did that, a horde of concussion missiles from the few A-Wings sped out towards the mass of TIE Fighters, and several explosions ensued, destroying a small amount of TIEs and damaging a few others.

"Fifteen seconds to intercept." A pause, then: "This is Captain Haulit to all pilots. This is where we make our stand for the Sloman Massacre. Make it count."

Kenny heard the words, and suddenly became filled with an immense pride. He couldn't explain it at all. It was just a good feeling. Like the time when he had asked Danielle to marry him, or the time right after that when she said "yes."

He looked up at the swarm of oncoming Imperial TIE Fighters, and he wasn't scared, wasn't tense, wasn't nervous; he was ready.

And the battle begun.

Kenny jammed back the firing button on the joystick, unleashing a barrage of green lasers into the mess of TIEs. He spun his craft ninety degrees–still pouring out lasers–and flew straight in. Matching green lasers shot back at him, as enemy TIEs rushed past the canopy . "Keep formation Crystal Star!" he ordered his pilots over the open comlink, leveling the O-fighter out again. "We have to make them break up! Not us!" An explosion suddenly flashed to his left, catching Kenny off guard. "What was that?" he asked as he blinked quickly.

"Crash!" Commander Raedy told him. "Split up!" His X-Wing dove to port as the TIE wave passed and split up themselves.

"Damn it..." came another voice, the same one that had said "Fifteen seconds to intercept" earlier. "All right, change of plan." A breath, then: "The _Gatekeeper_ is blocking the Interdictor from us, so long range fire from the _Urenstad_ is out of the question. Hang on, I gotta think about this."

Kenny, along with an A-Wing on his starboard side, ripped into a formation of TIEs, destroying all six of them on one pass because of very excellent marksmanship by both pilots. Tipping his wings in salute, Kenny then turned towards the scene enveloping to port, which was the battle slowly making its way towards the _Urenstad_ and the rest of the task force, which consisted of a Light Cruiser, two corvettes, two gunships, one Medium Transport and a Bulk Cruiser. This battle wasn't going to last long. Wait a minute...

Just as he was about to say something, Rax spoke first. "Captain Haulit this is Captain Hollafer. Can you help get the uswithin torpedo range of the Interdictor? Over."

A pause. "What do you mean torpedo range?" Haulit responded.

Rax hesitated. "I have seventy-five proton torpedoes stocked in my missile bays Captain."

Kenny blasted the TIE he was chasing, then dodged as one streaked over his fighter.

"That's more than enough to handle an Interdictor Cruiser," Rax continued. "Now can you help get my ship into range?"

"Seventy-five proton torpedoes?" Haulit repeated. "So that's the Crystal Star's big secret. They arm their ships heavily." He chuckled.

Kenny veered to port, dodging another laser blast from the two TIEs now chasing him.

"Right, we'll help you," Haulit said.

"Okay," Rax confirmed. "We're going to take the debris field. Don't come with us, we're faster than your Cruiser. Send the two corvettes, and don't worry about fighter escort. My squad can handle that. Get into position Kenny."

Kenny veered to starboard now and, as he had hoped, the two TIEs on his tail collided straight into three more, unsuspecting, TIEs. Debris and rubble flew faster than anything away in result. "On the way," Kenny told Rax. "Omega group, form up into escort position. All wings report in now, in order."

"Two."

"Three."

A pause. Kenny felt a felt his blood boil.

"Five."

"Six."

"Seven."

"Eight."

"Nine."

Another pause.

And a long pause it was.

"Twelve," came the last call-in.

_Damn_, Kenny thought. "Omega Leader to Omega's Four, Ten, and Eleven. Do you copy? Sam, Kiler...Luce, you guys there?"

No response from any of them. Samuel Lawrence, Kiler Basjaskin, and Lucelia Gavers were gone. More victims of Vader. Again, Kenny's blood boiled.

"Okay," Kenny said, getting back to reality. His HUD was slowly filling with red spacial contacts—more TIEs. "Heads up everybody. TIEs comin' this way. I think they know somethin's up. My HUD's tellin' me about thirty-six, so get ready."

The _Dooliir_'s limited turbolasers and laser cannons opened up in the direction of the TIEs as half of the Omega group charged head-on, Kenny and the other half lying in wait around the bigger ship.

The TIEs started breaking off into smaller formations of four, and then veered off in different directions. Kenny began to get alarmed, as the TIEs were spreading thin. However, the next second, his squad fighters out there each released one cluster missile package. He watched with excitement as the package unleashed its surprise—six small concussion missiles. They didn't track very well, but at this range that didn't matter much. A horde of enemy contacts disappeared off of the HUD, and the O-Fighters moved in to mop up.

Kenny jumped in his seat to release some of the energy he'd built up, as the Sloman debris field got closer and closer. "Be careful in here guys. Remember, its like an asteroid field. One wrong move and you're gone."

"This is the corvette _Kalabaster. _Us and the _Charity, _we'll clear the way."

Kenny nodded to no one. "Copy that. We'll help as best we can too. Ferdan to Rax. Concentrate on clearing the debris field. Let us worry about the fighters."

"Copy Kenny." The _Dooliir_'s lasers turned onto the floating debris, as the two Alliance corvette's charged forward to help, guns blazing.

"Speaking of fighters," said Tiley Jighthawk, "I'm picking up a flight of Bombers coming this way; with a squad of Interceptors escorting."

"Shit!" Kenny said quietly. "Switch flights! Switch flights! Omega's change!" He maneuvered out to face the TIEs, as did the rest of the escort force, while the other O-Fighters came back to take up the spots Kenny's group had left behind. "Arm cluster missiles and fire at will."

His wing mates clicked once in acknowledgment.

Suddenly, several flashes emanated from the Bombers' positions.

"Wait, what the hell was that?" Jighthawk asked.

"Torpedoes!" said Halsopus Rades, Omega Nine.

"But they're not in range yet," Jighthawk said.

Kenny was confused as well, until he saw all the torpedoes; not evenly spaced, not curving or bending; they'd been dumb-fired—without a target lock. It was then that he realized why they had fired. "Those are meant for us! Evasive!" Kenny pulled back on the stick, raising his fighter then leveling it as the dangerous proton torpedoes flew by his canopy. One hit and he was dead. He inverted, spun, swerved, keeping his dizzy eyes looking around, watching as the torpedoes whizzed by.

"Hal!" Jighthawk cried over the comlink.

Though he was dizzy, Kenny saw the bright explosion as—he guessed—Rades fighter got hit by a torpedo and blew up. "Don't lose focus Tiley!" He cleared the torpedo wave and sighed in relief. "Check in second flight."

"Two."

"Five."

And of course, Nine was dead.

"Shit, they're converging on me!" said Omega Five, Gerth Pollister.

Kenny blinked away his dizziness and glanced out the right side of his cockpit, looking back ahead every split second to make sure he didn't crash into anything. In the distance, he saw Pollister's fighter angle right as two TIE Interceptor's flew at it, guns blazing. He wasn't fast enough, as his ship got pounded relentlessly. "Maneuver Gerth!" But it was no use, the fighter's shields dropped and it was reduced to rubble an instant later.

Again, Kenny's blood boiled. Only two of the four remained now.

"Don't lose focus Tiley!" Kenny repeated as he got his first glance at the two Interceptors about to converge on him. He turned to port so that he was going head-on at one of them. The Interceptor released a barrage of lasers that Kenny answered with one simple quadruple fire. The shield-less little gray ship flew straight into the lasers and was torn apart. Kenny accelerated, becoming too fast for the other Interceptor. After a few seconds of that, he lowered the throttle and spun his fighter back down, towards the Bombers; he was slightly behind them. He then moved the throttle up and jammed the laser trigger; he was too close for a cluster missile. The Bombers had already begun to split up, but they weren't fast enough. Kenny ripped into their numbers, picking off a small amount in one pass, and breaking the Bombers original formation. "Head up first flight, those Bombers are comin' your way." Blasting an unsuspecting second Interceptor, Kenny cut power to the throttle altogether, throwing him forward. He then yanked back on the stick, bringing the Bombers back into view and accelerating again. "How you doin' Tiley?"

"Got a little heat, but nothing I can't handle," Jighthawk responded.

"Good—"

"—Looks like you've got some problems too," Jighthawk added as his fighter shot above Kenny.

Kenny flashed a glance at his HUD, and saw the two fighters tailing him. Sighing, he thrust the stick back-and-forth and side-to-side, sending his fighter into pitches and rolls as the TIEs tried ceaselessly to destroy him; risky considering he was still dodging debris, as was the Interceptors. He was pressed for time, but too outnumbered to risk trying anything. If those Bombers got within range of the _Dooliir_...

"Kenny I'm coming in right above you," Jighthawk said. "And I still got those fighters on my back. You scratch mine, I'll scratch yours."

"You got it." He saw Jighthawk and turned in his direction. The two were only a few hundred meters apart and closing fast. They were about to attempt a risky maneuver, which Kenny was slightly nervous about using. But with no initial debris blocking their path and the need for time great, he was ready to do it. Licking his lips, his grip tightened on the joystick, anxious to fire. His shields on full rear and slowly being eaten away, Kenny passed under Jighthawk and opened fire, catching the TIEs off guard. One exploded, while the other spun out of control to port, eventually crashing into a hunk of debris. Meanwhile, behind him, Jighthawk made short work of the two fighters on him.

"Nice job man." Kenny didn't have time to celebrate though.

"You too."

Kenny accelerated as fast as the fighter would go towards the remaining Bombers. They were awfully close now. Once in range, Kenny fired away his cluster missile package, hoping it would reach the group he was targeting in time. And it did. Before any torpedoes were fired, the six small concussion missiles mangled the four TIEs, and erased their signatures from the HUD. Kenny angled to port, going around a large piece of debris, and searching for more Bomber contacts. It didn't take him long to find a few, and he started for them as the battle intensified around him. HUD said that that group of five Bombers was all that was left of them; and they had already turned around, heading for the _Dooliir_. "Tiley, get over here! Mark 233-340! Last of the Bombers!"

"All right! Coming!"

Kenny came down from above the Bombers, but slightly behind them too. Flying at full speed, the klicks slowly disappeared. Below three...below two...below one-and-a-half...he fired away as he swung around a piece of debris. Several shots later, two Bombers were leaving behind trails of debris and dust as they spiraled out of control away from the _Dooliir_. As he was hitting a third one, a cluster missile package flew in from behind him, over the upper-right portion of the canopy, and straight at the remaining Bombers. The missiles separated, several flashes ensued, and then the Bomber's contact points disappeared on the HUD. "Good job Tiley. Nice shot."

"Thank you sir, but we didn't do it in time. Look at the _Dooliir_."

Kenny did so, and didn't notice anything at first. Then he saw the flashes of the four proton torpedoes and they sailed towards the vulnerable _Dooliir_. The freighter fired off two countermeasures in response, blowing two of the torpedoes. However, the other two torpedoes impacted on the port side shield, the shock wave vibrating space all around. "You all right Rax?" Kenny asked after a second.

"No problem," Rax responded. "A little shaken up though, but nothing we can't handle."

"Good. You're almost there."

"Yeah. Just keep holdin' them off."

"You got it." Kenny switched channels. "Ferdan to Commander Raedy. How you boys holdin' up?"

"Better than I had hoped. Imperial training seems a bit lax. How about you guys?"

"Fine. We're almost to the Interdictor now."

"Roger that."

Kenny switched over to the other channel.

"—'re trying to leave the fight," he heard Rax finish. "

"Huh?" he asked.

"That Star Destroyer is moving to the other side of the debris field. I think they think we're trying to leave," he chuckled.

Kenny snickered. "Really?" He looked up and saw the alleged Star Destroyer. It was moving in front of the _Dooliir_'s initial heading, like it was going to try and block it when it eventually came out of the debris field. It almost made him laugh out loud. "Wait 'til we get outta here..."

"Passing the _Gatekeeper _on the left," Rax said in a cocky voice. "Fark," he continued in a distant voice. "A little further to Mark 550-789, then turn to Mark 225-90 on my command."

The _Gatekeeper_'s tip came and went, and the Interdictor Cruiser holding everything from entering hyperspace appeared, almost ten times as small as the Super Star Destroyer guarding it.

The Imperials didn't challenge them anymore as they all proceeded ahead, until the _Dooliir_ reached coordinates Mark 550-789. Then, the freighter turned a sharp ninety-degrees and then let off exhaust as it accelerated towards the Interdictor, guns blazing at the debris in its path. The Rebel corvettes stayed behind, knowing they were useless against a Super Star Destroyer.

-

Rax gripped the armrests of his chair anxiously. Excitement flooded through his veiny system, and his breath was nice and easy, like an efficient machine. "Open the torpedoes bays. Powitt, get to the helm and help Fark."

Powitt Vinley Waseq, the only Bingin Rax knew of in the Crystal Star, ran over next to Fark's helm station. Fark scooted over in his chair as far as he could, letting Powitt sit on its edge. The two men shared Fark's control panel, getting ready to hold the _Dooliir_ steady. "Ready!" Fark shouted.

"We in range yet, Herra?" Rax asked to his weapons officer.

"Almost, sir," Herra Jewd the Ponadin female responded. "Just ten more seconds."

Rax fidgeted in his seat, ready for the joy this attack was about to bring to him. He grinned in a sensed victory.

After a while: "Target locking...target lock!" Herra shouted.

"Target twenty torpedoes on the strongest power source. It should be the power core. Is it?"

A beat. "Yeah it is Rax."

"Fire!"

Herra complied and started firing torpedoes. Rax gripped the armrests even harder as the ship pitched and rocked from the sheer force of the torpedoes. That was Fark and Powitt's job: to keep the ship as steady as possible as Herra fired away. The protons ripped through space, drooling to hit their alleged target; or maybe that was Rax's own hunger for destruction. His blood boiled in want to see the Interdictor explode. And as the torpedoes neared the peaceful surface of the Interdictor, Rax knew he would get his wish.

The torpedoes finally hit, and a fireworks show ensued afterward. Every torpedo that impacted the shields and soon enough the polished surface of the Interdictor added to the show, a spectacular pattern of lights and vibrations. Then suddenly, in what could be compared to the grand finale of a fireworks show, the Interdictor Cruiser exploded in a huge flash of light and color. The explosion littered the general area with more debris, adding on the Sloman graveyard. The only piece big enough to be considered a flight hazard was the black and gray, sheared bow section, floating away from the _Gatekeeper_.

The bridge erupted in cheering and "whooping" as the gravity well created by the Interdictor went down. Now they could all escape into hyperspace.

-

Kenny let out a victorious breath of air. He felt like his revenge had been satisfied. _Surprise you sons of a bitches! Weren't expecting that, were you?_ Kenny let himself laugh in delight.

"Okay," Rax said. "We're done here. Let's turn around. Same way we came."

Kenny rolled to starboard and was soon looking back at the debris field. Somehow or another, he felt good, like the debris field was applauding him now. As if Danielle had been watching this fight so far, and was cheering along with the rest of the _Dooliir_ and the Alliance ships.

"Um, hang on. We got a problem," Jighthawk reported. "The other Destroyer's back."

Kenny checked his HUD, and the saw the huge contact that was the Star Destroyer—the one that had been waiting for them, having expected them to come out the other side of the debris field. It was coming towards them fast, looking to cut off their escape route.

"Fine then. Though I hate to waste more torpedoes, we'll just have to go through it."

"Copy that," Kenny responded. He fell into escort position alongside the _Dooliir_, and followed it towards the Star Destroyer. A minute later, as the Star Destroyer loomed on Kenny's canopy, the _Dooliir_ started draining its torpedo bays again. Torpedo after torpedo rained down at the Star Destroyer. Kenny watched as the _Dooliir_ rocked back and forth with each torpedo it fired. He watched at the general area around Rax's ship, watching for any more Bombers or fighters. The clash between the Imperial ships and the Rebel ships had now moved to above the _Gatekeeper_, but none of it was in his general area. So for now, they were safe. The _Dooliir _continued to pour on the torpedoes, one after the other, until the lights flashing down on the Destroyer got ferociously bright. Then the torpedoes stopped. Moments later, the Star Destroyer exploded, brighter than the Interdictor, and Kenny let our another breath of victory.

"Okay," Rax said over the com. "Let's get out of here. Back into the debris field—whoa!"

The _Dooliir_ suddenly veered unexpectedly to port, its bow being dragged towards the _Gatekeeper_.

"We're caught in a tractor beam!" Rax said after a moment. "They're pulling us in!"

Kenny's mind raced for an idea, and he soon found one. The obvious one. "Don't rotate the shields yet! Wait until you get into torpedo range."

"We may not last that long," Rax answered. "They're launching more Bombers. We're rotating now! Herra!"

"No, wait Herra!" Kenny shouted. "Rax wait. We'll handle the Bombers. I promise you. Just don't rotate yet. When you do, rotate them, break the tractor lock, and then fire at will. Hang on though." He switched channels as he spotted the TIE Bombers and accelerated towards them. "Ferdan to Raedy. Can you spare some fighters? There are a lot of Bombers comin' our way."

"Consider it done Commander," Raedy's scratchy voice said.

"Good. Thank you." Kenny switched channels. He saw Omega group form around him as the Bombers neared again, this time without any Interceptors escorting them. Easy targets. As soon as he was in range, he and the rest of his group opened fire on the group, blasting the shieldless crafts into cinders and rubble. By the time the first pass was done, a good ninety percent of them were gone. They didn't need to make a second pass. Raedy's pilots took care of the rest of them. None of the Bombers even came close to getting into torpedo range. "Okay," Kenny said to Rax. "Rotate the shields and let them have it."

Moments later, the _Dooliir _rotated the shields and in the blink of an eye, broke the tractor beam lock, and then immediately opened fire with the torpedoes, rocking furiously. The Crystal Star freighter remained flying straight at the huge Super Star Destroyer, unloading the rest of its torpedoes at it, Kenny watched with excitement as the protons roared into the shields, and more flashes ensued, blinding Kenny for a few moments. To not let himself distracted, he maneuvered away from the _Dooliir _and started helping the Rebel forces take on the numerous Imperial fighters. He managed to score quite a couple kills before the _Dooliir_'s torpedo bays were dry and the harmless looking freighter was heading away from the _Gatekeeper_, having scorched its surface; literally; the _Gatekeeper_'s upper surface was ash black. Kenny could see inside to desecrated corridors of the ship. Torpedo craters dotted the destruction site, and sparks flashed from the all the damage. It looked like a giant monster had come and taken a bite out of the Super Star Destroyer. The ship had taken a mighty blow, and was starting to drift like a planet having been thrown off its axis.

Blasting across his vision, the _Dooliir_ regained its composure and started for the exit vector, along with the already fleeing task force. It was still being fired on though, caught in a long-range crossfire from the other Star Destroyer and close-range shots from the _Gatekeeper_. But it was faster than both, and was slowly gaining ground away its chasers. The only problem now was that it was being dogged by fighters again.

Kenny accelerated towards the fighters at full speed, requesting back-up as he did. But that ended up being mainly his own squadron again. The Alliance fighters were too busy protecting their B-Wing and Y-Wing bombers as they attacked the vulnerable _Gatekeeper_, dropping torpedoes and bombs on the shieldless upper surface and destroying it bit by bit.

So Kenny and what remained of his squadron—Omega Twelve had been taken down while the _Dooliir _was caught in the _Gatekeeper_'s tractor beam—entered into a dogfight with the TIEs. He blew up two with his first pass, taking them both by surprise apparently. As the fight for the _Dooliir_ continued, the _Gatekeeper_ finally regained its ground, and maneuvered it's bow towards the escaping ship, firing salvo after salvo at it in the hopes on knocking out its rear-facing engines and trapping it without the use of an Interdictor. But Kenny had confidence that the _Dooliir_ was too far away now. Kenny dropped in behind a Fighter and an Interceptor and picked them off one at a time, quickly before they could react. He then rolled and veered as two Fighters came in behind _him_ and started firing away. Not having to worry about hitting anymore debris, Kenny was became confident with his flying. His shields took a few hits, but soon after, the two Fighters were destroyed by Jighthawk.

"Going on twelve here," Jighthawk remarked boldly.

"I got seventeen," Kenny recounted from memory. "You better start workin' harder."

"Shut up," Jighthawk said after a moment.

Kenny grinned. It soon disappeared though, as he glanced over at the _Dooliir_ and saw several of the _Gatekeeper_'s long range shots hitting the rear shield. "Shit," he whispered. "How's the ship holdin' up Rax?"

Static, then: "Good for now but at the rate our shields are dropping, that won't last long," came the Renevan's response.

"Copy that." He switched channels and was about to speak when he glanced over and saw the _Urenstad_—and it caused him to do a double take. The giant Cruiser was rolling on its center, firing whatever small amount of working guns it had left, black and scorched worse than the top of the _Gatekeeper_. It had holes in almost every part of it, and looking pathetically dead.

The suddenly, Captain Haulit's medium-toned voice came onto the com channel. "This is Captain Kren Haulit of the Cruiser _Urenstad_ to all the Crew of the Crystal Star who are flying and are on the _Dooliir_. Thank you for your help. I've already made sure that your help in this fight will never be forgotten by the Rebel Alliance. And to Commander Kenny Ferdan. I'm again sorry for your loss. You'll make a marvelous pilot in the Alliance. Thank you again Crystal Star. Its been an honor." The transmission ended. Then, almost directly after the message was done, the _Urenstad_ turned to port, aiming its damaged hulk towards the scolded and still shieldless top surface of the _Gatekeeper. _It powered forward, and Kenny knew Haulit was going to ram the Destroyer. Kenny's heart skipped a beat as he saw it accelerate towards it target. He wanted to stop them but he somehow knew they wouldn't listen. Then, much to his surprise, the _Urenstad _fired up its engines, beyond safety precautions and heat toleration as indicated by the immense thermal energy readings Kenny was picking up. The engines overheated and exploded, blowing off the whole aft section of the Cruiser. The sudden force propelled the Cruiser forward at four times the speed it had been going before, not giving the _Gatekeeper_'s guns a chance to repel it. At last, as the _Urenstad_ was still picking up speed, the Cruiser smashed into the surface of the Super Star Destroyer. Metal pushed against metal, debris flew off the hulls of both as the titanic collision forced all eyes towards it; in shock by most who watched. At first, the crash did nothing to effect the _Gatekeeper_, and everything to effect the _Urenstad_. Its bow slowly disintegrated away against the rough surface, chipping away like paint. Then, out of no where, the Cruiser self-destructed, no doubt having been executed by Haulit. Since part of the bow had become lodged inside the _Gatekeeper_, it took out a huge oval portion of the already ruptured surface. The shock wave from the explosion and the force of the explosion took out even more surface, indirectly. The hull was flattened against itself, parts of it caving in. After the deadly detonation, the _Gatekeeper _no longer looked like the dreadful, soul-wrenching warship that was feared throughout the galaxy.

Kenny thought it rather looked helpless. Vader's ship; the symbol of the Empire, looked helpless, like the Rebel Alliance when it was first formed. _What goes around comes around_, he thought. He looked down at his HUD, and his felt his body temperature rise in excitement and anxiousness. What the HUD was telling him was miraculous. The force of the explosion, since it had been very close to the _Gatekeeper_, had caused a temporary overload in some systems. One of those systems had been the ship's shields; they were _all_ now down for the time being, including the bridge shield. Kenny did a 180 degree turn and blasted back towards the _Gatekeeper_, aiming his ship for the command deck.

"Kenny where are you going!" Jighthawk shouted.

Part way there, he suddenly felt regretful at having making that decision without a second thought, so he turned around.

"Where are you going?" Jighthawk asked.

"I was going to attack the _Gatekeeper_'s bridge," Kenny said blandly. "But then I remembered that that would be suicide." He paused. "Let's get out of here everybody." He looked out the side of his canopy, and saw the second biggest ship in the Alliance task force, the Light Cruiser _Derra Fork_, drifting silently in space, being destroyed slowly by the lone Imperial Star Destroyer, the only Imperial ship that hadn't been touched at all during the battle. For the umpteenth time, Kenny's blood boiled. But then he looked over at the _Gatekeeper_, and saw all the damage that had been inflicted on Vader's ship, and he felt a pride he hadn't felt in a long time. And it felt good. Very good. _Serves you bastards right. Good bye._ With that, Kenny escorted the remaining Rebel ships into hyperspace, and soon followed. He didn't feel revenged though. But it was good enough for now.


	31. Tale 5: Part 6

Next day: 7:23 P.M. Freighter _Dooliir _

"How ya takin' it?" Bryan Rawling asked in concern.

"Good," Kenny answered rather quickly. "Its been a little hard, but good for the most part."

Bryan grinned slightly in dry humor. A trait that was common to him in dealing with bad news. "Good. Have they...held the services yet? The personal ones I mean."

Kenny raised his eyebrows, puzzled for a split second. "The personal ones? Oh, um, naw, not yet. Not for another few days."

"On Afgalan?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Oh, I just guessed. She was famous–she was famous enough to able to-to have one there."

"Yeah..."

The two stared at each other in silence. They both wanted the other to talk, or at least say something, but neither knew what to say. Kenny had suffered a huge loss, and Bryan didn't want to say too much.

"Heard ya kicked Vader's ass afterwards," Bryan said with newfound energy and excitement. "Bet that was fun, huh?"

Kenny forced a smile. "Hell yeah. Nothing beats kickin' the crap out of a Super Star Destroyer. It's fun as hell."

The other man grinned. "Yes, sir. Nothing quite like it I'm sure. I take it your views on the Empire have changed now?"

"They've been changed since _Star Wars_ became real."

"It's going to weird seeing you wearing an Alliance jumpsuit after all those fights we had about the whole issue when we were kids."

Kenny chuckled. "Yeah. All that 'Empire rules, Rebel's suck"..._crap_ is gone."

"Cool. Well I hope so," Bryan said with a chuckle of his own. "Considering that you're on the Rebel's side now."

Kenny laughed as delightfully as he would let himself. On the other end of the transmission. A figure in an orange Alliance flight suit walked by, prompting Bryan to look back for a moment.

"Hey Maxie," Bryan said neutrally.

"Hey," came the response in a monotonic female voice.

Turning back to the screen, Bryan sighed. He then asked, "What day exactly is the funeral being held, if I may ask?"

"July thirteenth," Kenny responded from memory.

"Aw that's perfect," Bryan said. He leaned in towards his monitor. "Tell me. What would you do to see her again? Danielle."

Kenny saw the thought in the man's eyes. Clearly he had an idea about something, for it was look Kenny had seen on his face plenty of times before. "What would I do to see her again?" he repeated. His eyes scanned the outline of the comlink box, but he didn't see it. His mind was racing through answers to Bryan's question. Several answers flashed through his mind. Die, kill, cry, beg, plead, suffer, walk, run, rescue...the answers went on forever. _This is too easy_, Kenny thought. "Anything."

Bryan smiled and nodded. "Good. That's what I thought. If you'd be willing to stay an extra day on Afgalan after the funeral, I could help you see her one last time. Alive I mean, or sort of alive; it's kinda weird.

Kenny looked puzzled. "What?"

"Just trust me, Kenny. Would you be willing to stay that extra day though. To see her?"

Kenny looked away for a few moments, still confused. "Uh, sure. Yeah. How though?"

"You'll see. Just tell your Captain that you'll be a day late coming back. If he/she doesn't like that than tell me or tell them to call me and I'll take care of it. All right man?"

Kenny hesitated, still in wonder. "All right, Bryan."

Bryan smiled in conclusion. "Cool. See ya at the funeral. Bye"

"Bye."

-

Five days later. 7:51 P.M. Afgalan time. Location: Rebel Alliance Capital Planet; Afgalan.

Kenny didn't know where he was going.

The field of long-stemmed, wheat-like plants his sole's were stepping on stretched endlessly across the plains of the planet Afgalan, the planet where the Rebel Alliance was founded during a battle with the Empire. Afgalan became the capital of the Alliance soon after.

The skyscrapers of Uken City were now well out of sight, having disappeared into the horizon ten minutes ago. Now it was field as far as the eye could see in all directions. Kenny yearned where Bryan was leading him; what the point of staying here was. He'd heard Afgalan was also famous for its apparent natural magic; it's magicians and sorcerers known throughout the galaxy for their powers over nature and the afterlife. Maybe that's where Bryan was leading him. To some sort of sorcerer who could reincarnate Danielle. _Oh what am I thinking?_ Kenny thought. _They're not _that _powerful_. "Bryan," he finally whined tiredly. "We've been walking for a while now. Where are we going?"

"Hang on," Bryan said without turning around. "We're almost there. Just over this hill. And then we'll stop."

Kenny grunted and followed.

And Bryan chuckled at it. "Believe me. It'll be worth it."

Kenny eyed his back with a quizzical eye. "It better be."

"It will."

They reached the top of the hill at last, both relatively out of breath. Then Bryan turned around to face the direction they'd just came, and let himself take in a few breaths of the clean, sweet air. He gestured for Kenny to do the same. This continued for a long while, and Kenny was surprised to find that it only took a few breaths for him to become revived. _Hmm_, he thought. _Maybe this _does_ have something to do with sorcery_.

"All right," Bryan said after a while. "We'll have to walk again soon, so be ready."

Kenny groaned a little.

"Okay. The spot where we're standing is the start of what I like to call the one-hundred yard dash. It was at this spot that Taigor Gillia, still the Alliance's president, started his fifty-three yard run across this patch of field. At the time, he was leader of the Afgalan Freedom Fighters. And Dornerien Hights was leader of the Sorcerer Rebellion. And so, from the top of this hill where Gillia's battle fort was, here—" Bryan pointed across the field to a spot in the middle of it; flat compared to the hill they were standing on—"to that point right there. He carried the Charter of the Rebel Alliance with him, which he had written himself and signed. Come on," he gestured to Kenny. "Gotta walk again." They started back down the hill in the direction they came from, stopping at the point where Bryan had pointed to. "At this spot, Gillia gave the Charter to Dornerien Hights. Hights jogged the other fifty-three yards back to his fort. And during this entire time, both factions were battling the Imperials, independently. So while they were exchanged the charter, there was—flashes overhead; TIE Fighters and the rebel defenders battling in the air; ground fire between the Imperial and rebel armies. It was a miracle the two didn't die while they exchanged the Charter."

Kenny finally looked up at him, wondering what this had to do with anything. But he didn't complain; he didn't say anything. Because at that moment, Bryan looked like one of the sorcerers. His eyes were twinkling in the dim sunlight of Afgalan's twin suns. He was standing up tall, shoulders back, looking out across the field; it seemed as though he weren't even looking at it, like he had gone away from this place, away from reality. He had a certain tame to him, a magical patience that Kenny couldn't force himself to ignore...so Kenny just listened as he continued. "Anyway, after Gillia gave him the Charter, Hights ran back to his own fort. Gotta walk again," Bryan announced. He lead Kenny forward again, towards another point in the field that was on the side of another hill. He stopped and turned back to face the opposite direction again. "On his way into the fort, Hights placed the Charter against his knee and signed his name next to Gillia's. And so the Rebel Alliance was born exactly on, or close to, the spot we're standing on right now six years ago. Then, Hights went into his fort and transmitted the Charter to rebellious factions all over the known galaxy, thus creating the modern day Rebel Alliance. That's the story behind this place." He turned to Kenny and grinned in humor. "I'm sure you're wondering what this has to do with anything."

"Kinda, yeah."

Bryan chuckled and turned back to face the field. "Watch. You see the two suns?" he pointed directly up to the one sun and across the field to the other. "You'll notice that they're about to be directly above where Gillia started his journey across the field and where Hights signed the Charter—where we're standing."

Kenny looked up and then away immediately as the sun burned into his eyes. Blinking away the mirages, he looked over and briefly saw the other sun nearly over the spot on the top of the hill where they had been standing a few minutes ago. "Yeah..."

"Watch."

The suns aligned themselves with the two spots, and the magic continued. The sun's golden-orange light cascaded over the field—and with every plant and blade of grass they touched, the entire sunlit field became a brilliant gold. Every wheat-like plant blew in the soft wind, glinting against the calm light with a warm glow. None of them stooped over; they all lifted their head to the sky in response to the sudden burst of warm light.

Inside, Kenny was more in awe than shock. His felt himself suddenly became warmer with the light; his heart beat with a fiery passion, and his eyes melted into the light, his vision being swallowed by the magic of the golden light of the setting suns. He didn't know what to feel, what to say, what to do. And he didn't care. He wanted to bask in the glow of the light, to be trapped in its warmth for as long as he could. It felt so good...

"Whoa," was the only thing Kenny could force out of his mouth in response to the sight.

He heard Bryan chuckled softly. "Yeah...trust me, buddy. You ain't seen nothin' yet. Paying attention?"

Kenny could only nod.

"You sure."

Kenny didn't take his eyes of the golden field, but nodded again.

"Okaaaay," Bryan said. "Look up at the sun over there in the distance, and keep your eyes there for a few moments."

Kenny hesitated at first, not wanting to take his eyes off the beautiful field. But he did eventually, staring deep into the orange-gold hue of the second sun across the field. He did exactly what Bryan said, probably staring at the sun a little too long.

"All right, now blink off the mirages and look down back at the open field," Bryan told him.

Kenny did, blinked a few times—and nearly fainted from shock and awe. Gaping, he took a step back in surprise. "Oh my God..."

Bryan smiled warmly. "See them?" he asked with a glint in his eye.

Kenny didn't answer. What his eyes were telling him was what kept his vocal cords off.

There, in the distance, people were moving down the side of the other hill. Men, women, and children of all ages and of at least two dozen species appeared out of the air—or so that's how it seemed—in the field. They were draped in all Alliance attire; flight suits, maintenance overalls; Captain's uniforms, officer uniforms. Some were in civilian outfits; everything from fancy tuxedos and black ties to rags and torn shirts; heavily stained pants; some garments were paper thin. Their boots and shoes clomped down onto the field—but were soundless. Also, their distant lips were moving up and down and side-to-side, but still no sound came. Arms were crossed on some; others had their hands at their sides, some swinging them back and forth as they moved. Many walked, some ran; some kids were doing flips and cartwheels in which some fell over, went down, then came up smiling and laughing. Parents shoved their stubborn kids along. Running was also common.

Kenny sensed a feeling of joy even though a few of these mysterious people were angry or sad. It felt like he could feel the warmth and calmness emanating from...whoever they were. Again, the memory of proposing to Danielle came back. "Who...?" he started. "Who are they? The dead?"

Bryan shook his head. "No." He started down the hill towards them. The field was still gold.

Kenny followed.

"They are alive," Bryan continued. He pointed back to where they had been standing. "When they pass under that sun—that point—they will die and go who knows where. But for now, they are still alive."

The people were getting close now. And when Bryan had pointed backward, Kenny had realized something. Those people were appearing as they walked into the field of gold—as they came out from under the second sun. And Bryan had said, more or less, that they would disappear once they reached the first son. _They're walking the Charter's path. Gillia's and Hight's path. _This was definitely sorcery, but how?

"What you're seeing, Kenny, are the people who have died in the past year who were in the Alliance. Since the Rebel Alliance was born on July 14th, that is when a "Rebel year" ends and all those who have died in the Alliance in the past year make their final trek across this field."

Bryan and Kenny finally reached the first people who were coming. The first two were human beings, with half a dozen Trisalkans after. Then Bingins, Caldorans, a few Fedrellons; Scollons, Elaskens, and the list went on. They walked or ran past Kenny, some smiling at him, some waving. Those who said "hi" only mouthed it. They couldn't talk to him. Others nodded to him, while others ignored him, or didn't even look at him. Kenny watched a human man after he passed. The human walked up the hill, smiling the whole way, until he reached the spot the sun was hovering over.

And indeed, he disappeared, walking straight out of the real world into the realm of the unknown and the who-knows-what. Into the mystery that every species known could never figure out.

Several others followed, all disappearing once they hit the spot.

Kenny looked over to Bryan, who was standing in front of one of the Trisalkan walkers; and the two were exchanging friendly smiles. But they weren't speaking. And as Kenny walked over towards them, Bryan said "Ga-bye Kas. Have fun wherever you're going." The Trisalkan waved goodbye and continued up the hill, and eventually disappeared too. "Will Danielle be here soon?" Kenny asked, looking out across the field at the now hundreds trekking towards him.

Bryan nodded. "She'll be along here soon I'm sure." He looked at Kenny's face. "You'll get to see her one last time."

Kenny smiled. "Good."

A silence ensued for a moment or two.

Kenny broke it. "I thought you said these people were alive; but then you said they were dead."

Bryan grinned apologetically. "Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. But by our standards and knowledge, they _are_ dead."

"So are these, like, their spirits?"

Bryan shook his head now. "No. These are their souls. Their life's essence. Their souls..." he stopped to take in the beautiful sight; of the gold field, the lovely golden-orange suns, the souls of the Alliance as they made their way to their end.

Kenny then saw someone he recognized.

Captain Kren Haulit of the Cruiser _Urenstad_.

The Dezfastian alien was walking peacefully up the hill now, smiling at Kenny the whole way.

Kenny grinned back almost sadly. "Captain Haulit," he said. He struggled to find words, and finally managed to spit out, "Nice job at Sloman. You kicked the _Gatekeeper_'s ass with that explosion."

Haulit's smile brightened. "Thank you," he mouthed. He then gave a two finger salute—which Kenny returned—and started up the hill, disappearing like the rest.

"How come I can't hear them?" Kenny asked Bryan.

"One of things that keeps their realm and our realm separate," came the answer. "Though their souls are still alive, they are technically dead. Their souls go to another existence entirely. The charm the sorcerer's placed on this land lets both realms be partially united. You can't hear or touch them, they can't touch or talk to you. It's an equal but balanced existence."

"Hmm," Kenny hummed. "What a place."

"Yep. I found out about it from one of the sorcerers who put the charm on the field, after my friend Jennie Kopper died. That's the other thing: only those who have lost someone dear to their hearts can see this. It can be a lover, a wife, or a good friend. It my case it was a good friend. In yours, it's Danielle."

"How many people do you recognize in this years group?" Kenny asked.

"So far, about nine out of all of them."

Kenny saw another man in a tuxedo pass by him. That was the fifteenth one he'd seen. He leaned towards Bryan and said, "Let me guess, those guys in the tuxes were the politicians that died at the Birletta Conference."

Bryan nodded. "Yup." He pointed to a human coming towards him, and then to two other distant figures. "That guy comin' at us is Lieutenant Darloor Opala, one of my _Faith_ pilots, and those other two are Deman Hetter and Hilgo Sawwo, security guards aboard the _Faith_."

Kenny pointed to someone now too. "Hey, that's Gerth Pollister. He died in the battle." He turned to Bryan, confused. "He was Crystal Star though."

Bryan cocked his head once. "Doesn't matter. He died fighting on the Alliance's side. Doesn't matter if you've been in the Alliance for six years, six minutes, or a sixth of a second. If you died fighting alongside the Alliance, then you come here."

Gerth walked fast up the hill, smiling, like Haulit, the whole way up.

Meanwhile, Bryan continued to point out people he knew. "Deck Officer Forenzo Deanna, engineer Kayla Rosco, and that is..." he chuckled. "That is the reason we're out here right now. Kenny, look who's coming."

Kenny took his eyes off Gerth and looked ahead to where Bryan was pointing. And there she was. Danielle Bonard, his beloved wife, was running towards him as fast as she could, bounding across the field of gold. And before Kenny even knew what he was doing, he was running down towards her, spirits up and heart racing.

Bryan just smiled at the sight. He then sat down and crossed his legs...and waited, staring out at the beautiful landscape.

Kenny, cursing the sorcerers who made this place—because he remembered he couldn't hear her or touch her—charged down the hill, nearly tripping once, down to the spot where the two finally arrived in front of each other. For a while, they just stood and stared at each other. Kenny's arms were bent slightly, blood rushing, muscles twitching; urging him to hug her. His lips wanted to kiss hers so bad that he could barely hold himself back. Again, his cursed, and this time blessed too, the sorcerers who made this place so magical. Danielle looked as if she was holding back the same of everything. "Hey Danielle," he said after a while.

She beamed beautifully at him. "Hi," she mouthed.

_Say it_, Kenny thought. _Say it or you might forget to say it_. "I love you."

Danielle looked at him lovingly. "I. Love. You. Too." She mouthed slowly, making sure Kenny understood.

She then started for him, as if she was actually going to hug him.

Kenny didn't move, hoping that maybe Bryan had been wrong, and that they could indeed touch each other. As she got closer, Kenny waited. And then, she walked up to right in front of him—and then through him. Right through him. He felt a tingling sensation. His heart warmed up madly, his blood flowed with a fiery passion. Every part of his body felt like an entire galaxy of brightly twinkling stars, each glowing and bursting with energy and joy. For a moment—only a moment—he was floating in open space, gazing out at a beauteous starscape; a milk white galaxy with billions of distant stars, all orbiting one center, one gold-glowing ball of light at the center. It was almost like heaven. And for the first time in days, Kenny's stress was gone, his grieving over, and all the pressures of living his life were gone. He was truly at peace. Then the moment was gone, every part of Kenny yearning for it to come back, and in front of him was empty field. No Danielle. Fearing he had lost her again, Kenny snapped his gaze around, and found her standing right behind him, back to him, and he remembered that she passed right through him.

She turned around, and beamed at him again. But she was different now. Her entire form had become clearer, and Kenny could now see through her partially.

"Danielle, what happened?"

She smiled, and pointed up to Bryan, then gestured for him to follow her.

So he did.

Bryan stood up as they approached him, smiling the whole time. "Hey Danielle. How are you?"

"Good," she mouthed. She then played charades with him, describing what had just happened the minute before.

"Ah," Bryan said a moment of watching this. He turned to face Kenny. "What just happened is this: she gave you part of her soul. That's why she's clarvescent, or however you say that word."

"Oh," Kenny said, looking at his wife. "Thanks," he said slowly.

She smiled again, tears now forming in her eyes. Wiping her eyes and she began to sob, she turned up the hill and started the slow march up it. Bryan moved out of the way, and Kenny brushed past him hurriedly to catch up. He walked by her side by side, not taking his eyes off her. The two stopped right before the spot where the gold field ended, and just stood there for a while, Kenny not saying anything, tears welling up and blurring his vision. He didn't want to say good-bye to her now. She was taken from him unfairly, for simply doing something good for the Alliance. He wanted so bad to go with her, and he knew she could see this. So he smiled and turned away for a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. When he looked again, she was smiling too. "Bye," he said quietly.

She waved. "Bye," she mouthed, and took another few steps, disappearing from reality forever. And that's when Kenny broke at last, unable to hold it back anymore. Now her warm love was lost forever.

Kenny trudged back to a waiting Bryan, who said nothing but stared sympathetically at him.

"I'm sorry man," he said.

"Thank you," Kenny said almost immediately. With that, he hugged his friend, as a friend. "Thank you so much for this."

Bryan smiled and hugged him back. "Your welcome man." He backed off then extended his arm out.

Kenny clapped hands with him, then leaned in and clapped him hard on the shoulder, Bryan doing the same on his shoulder. After this moment was over, they waved their good-bye to the field and started back for Uken City as the trek continued in the gold field, the souls making their way towards their completion.

"Can I tell you something?" Kenny asked after a while.

"Sure."

"During the battle, the _Gatekeeper_'s bridge shields were brought down and I had a chance to destroy the bridge and the command deck, and possibly Vader. But I didn't do it." He stopped and looked his friend directly in the eye, serious. "Because they took her away from me. I loved her, and they took her away from me. And I want to make sure the Empire never forgets how much that hurt. And killing myself wouldn't help."

Bryan grinned at him. "That's the spirit, and that's what the Alliance wants. People who want to make sure the Empire learns it lesson. Besides, attacking the command deck of a Super Star Destroyer is suicide, shields or no shields so I'm really glad you didn't do it."

Kenny laughed, brightening. "Yeah, that's the other reason I didn't."

Bryan laughed too, then extended his hand at him. "By the way, since you joined the Alliance: welcome to the game."

"Thank you."

They shook hands, in the shadow of the setting sun of the Afgalan field.


	32. Closer and Closer

5:50 P.M. _Courage _Cruiser

Bryan eyes calmly shifted to and from all ends of his vision, one by one, scanning the activity going on in the hangar. It felt like an ordinary day on a Rebel Cruiser, even though it wasn't. The maintenance crews were running tests and check-ups on the flight machinery. Sparks flew from the plasma torches as they bore down into durasteel. Techs shouted orders to one another while maintenance tugs rushed overhead from starfighter to starfighter, detaching them from the sides of the hangar and carrying them to open spots on the deck. The acrid smell of Gamlin Brand Oil irritated his nostrils, prompting Bryan to take short breaths. The torches were loud and grinding, as were the numerous other power tools the techs were using to rush last-  
minute repairs to the ships. The combination of hot sparks and the layerof flight and jump suits Bryan had on made the hangar that much hotter. He could feel the sweat already starting to form on his temple.

Propping his flight helmet against his right hip, Bryan ducked under the long wing of a B-Wing, his eyes set on his X-Wing parked towards the front of the hangar.

"Hey Commander," said a tech on Bryan's right.

Bryan smiled at him for a second. "Hello." Continuing along, he greeted several other techs, and a few pilots, including Paul Darbles again, still with Diana Hayes, and looking rather cheerful. After what seemed like two miles, he reached his TIE-painted X-Wing, sitting in wait as some techs did their final checks on it. The fuel pipes were already detached and lay sprawled across the deck plating, dripping Brand Name Heral nitrogen-based fuel onto the duranium deck. The fuel was scentless. The only sound was the isolinear energy generator feeding power into the X-  
Wing's systems, and cleaning out any technical glitches. "She looks wonderful, Heim," Bryan said in satisfaction as he did a once-over to his craft.

Heim Lass'sion, the Zolisian man who was the _Courage_'s assistant Tech Officer, peeked out from behind the generator. When his dark purple eyes spotted Bryan, he stood up and smiled graciously. "'Hank eyou," he said, not using a translator; using his best English. He went back to his work.

Bryan stepped up to the side of the fuselage, taking a proud moment to admire the number of TIE Fighters that were painted onto it(indicating the number of kills Bryan had in his eleven years. Gold TIEs equaled ten, silver equaled five, black equaled one). A majority of them were gold with one silver and four blacks on this side. Once again, Bryan took a few seconds to tally up the kills painted on this side. Seventy-nine. He took in a breath, his heart applauding his success. The X-  
Wing was more than an X-Wing to him, and it wasn't uncommon for pilots to become attached to their ship. Bryan had in his eleven years as a pilot for the Alliance. And this X-Wing had been his X-Wing the entire time, moving with him with every transfer. The ship was like a friend to him. Not as good a friend as Maxie, Molly, Justin, or especially Rosy, but still like a friend. Bryan knew it inside and out; when the engines were faulty, when the sensors were out of alignment. He knew when the ship had an "injury." He also noticed when something had changed; something was out of place now in the paint job—or rather something correct. "I see you even repaired the paint job," Bryan observed, gliding his hand along the red stripe that made its way across the lengthy snout of the fighter. Two weeks ago, a forth of the red paint near the cockpit—and a part of one of the black TIE's solar panels—had been chipped away, making the entire job look incomplete. Now it was perfect, looking as good and as fresh as the first day it had come off the manufacturing line. "You didn't have to do that. I woulda done it...thanks though."

"Ihs ill rite. Youw elcum," Heim responded.

_It looks really good actually_, Bryan thought to himself. Suddenly, from his left came several mechanical tones in quick rhythm, almost like a voice. Bryan turned to face his green and white astromech droid, which, him being a theater major when he was in college, he had named Puck in honor of the character from Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. He grinned at the small robot. "Hey Puck. How are you today buddy?"

The droid gave a high, squeaky, joyous tone.

"That sounds good," Bryan said with a humorous snicker. "You ready ol' buddy?"

A regular, monotonic tone was the answer his time.

"Uh-oh. That didn't sound too happy."

Another tone.

Bryan chuckled. "I'm sure you're ready Puck. I was just askin.'" He turned to towards Heim. "Do you know if I got any messages from anyone, Heim?"

"Uhhh, I 'hink youw miy haave." Heim stood up and pointed beyond the X-Wing. "Barraachna."

Bryan followed the man's finger, and found it to be pointing to Barakna Iolvek, a female tech from the Deet species. She also managed all the pilots personal messages, so that way the Cruiser's crew itself didn't have to.

"Barraachna!" Heim called to her.

She turned. "What!" came a shouted translation to English.

"Briian masseges!"

She hesitated a moment, letting the translator do its job. "Oh." She reached down to her belt and pulled out two message chips. Then she started for Bryan, carrying the chips in her palm. "You got about two dozen messages from people, you know. You gotta stop being popular amongst half the pilots in the Rebellion. Its killing me to have to sort your messages."

Bryan gave her a "know-it-all" look. "Now Barakna, you know I can't do that."

"Of course not," she said jokingly, rolling her three eyes. She reached him and extended the chips. "They were all mostly 'good luck' messages. I moved almost all of them to the communications terminal in your room, so you can look at them after the battle."

He took the chips. "Thank you."

"Your welcome."

"How many are on these?"

"Just two. One from Calvin Deravin, and one from—" she changed her voice to a gossipy tone. "—Admiral Rodenski."

Bryan gave her a flat-eyed look. "Don't start." He took the video unit and plugged the chip from Emilie in first.

He activated the video monitor and turned on the chip. Soon, Emilie Rodenski's pretty face appeared on the screen. She started off the message with a smile. "Hey Bryan," she said brightly. "You've probably already gotten tons of these, so I'll make mine short as possible." Her smile became less wide and her brandy-brown eyes got a little more serious. "Be careful out there, and, you know, come back alive. Okay? Cool. Oh, and by the way, I know I said this before, but I don't need your help anymore talking about what happened at Deil Nine. Okay? Okay. Bye, and have fun out there." She smiled brightly again, and then the screen went blank.

Bryan laughed lightly, shook his head, and removed the chip from the monitor. _Crazy girl_, he thought. Sighing somewhat reluctantly, he plugged in the chip from Calvin Deravin.

The monitor brought out every wrinkle, every curve, and every iron feature of Deravin's serious but handsome face. "Hello Bryan. I'd just like to say again that I'm sorry for the remark I made to Admiral Rodenski about Deil Nine. However, at the same time I don't think it was right for you to single me out in front of my superiors and my peers."

Bryan blew air out his nose.

"Next time, do it in private, if you wouldn't mind. Unless you like hounding all the attention."

Bryan snickered again.

"Good luck out there," he finished, as stone-faced as he had been in the beginning of the message. The screen went blank again.

Bryan shook his head again and removed the chip. "What a guy. A bitch to the end I guess." He handed the two chips back to Barakna.

"I don't like him," she commented. "He's such a bastard."

Bryan nodded his agreement, then shrugged. "Oh well. Some are just like that. Just burn his and move Emilie's to the terminal in my room like the others please."

"You got it," she said, placing the chips back at her belt.

Bryan took the opportunity to extend his hand towards her. "Just for the record, you've been a marvelous message manager, my dear."

Barakna smiled gorgeously. "Thank you." She took his hand and they shook. "But we'll see each other again, I'm sure. You're the best pilot in the Rebellion, I'm the best...secondary techie. We'll both stay alive."

"Or so we hope," he answered, and they exchanged grins and broke the shake.

"Good luck," she told him.

"Thank you. You too."

"Thanks."

As she walked away, Bryan turned towards the power generator. "And good luck to you too, Heim!" he called.

"'Hank youw! Youw thoo!" Heim shouted over the generator's noise.

"Okay!" someone new shouted. "Let's get your astro droid in his socket, Commander!"

Bryan turned and saw Tech Supervisor Conner Tasar walking over to his X-Wing with another tech member and a lifting machine. He nodded and grinned. "Sure thing. Get ready Puck."

Puck tweedled his acknowledgment and started hobbling over to the lifting machine as Bryan made his way up the cockpit ladder to put his helmet down onto his seat for the time being. His anxiousness grew another level. It was now getting closer and closer...


	33. Tale 6: Intelligence Is As Good As What?

**Tale 6: Intelligence is as Good as...What? **

**Chapter 1: Part 1 **

11:03 A.M. _Liberty_ Cruiser. Three years before the Battle of Corpagia

"Katie!" Bryan exclaimed. He opened his arms wide and then wrapped them around her in a hug. She hugged him back with the same fierceness, and the two hung there a moment in the embrace before Bryan broke off. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in a long time."

His old friend from his theater days beamed brightly up at him. "I'm great! How are you? Your taller!"

Bryan laughed. "Aw, I'm great. It's so nice to see you though. I didn't know you were in the Alliance—not like you wouldn't be completely moral, honest, and very decent, but still..."

Kate laughed delightfully. "Yeah, I know, but yeah, I'm in the Alliance."

An awkward moment of smiling and staring on their parts came next.

"Cool," Bryan said, finally breaking it. "When'd you join?"

"About two years ago."

"Nice. What ship? The _Liberty_?"

"No. The _Skywalker_."

"The _Skywalker_? Shouldn't you be there then?"

She put a finger to her lips, then leaned in towards him. "Shh. Emilie snuck me a personal invite so I could see her again."

"Ah," Bryan said in understanding. He gave her a warning look. "Katie...your not supposed to do that, ya know."

"I know, shut up!" She whispered fiercely.

Bryan broke into a toothy grin. "Just kidding. You can do whatever you want."

She smiled back. "Thank you," she said in a ladies voice.

"Wish we had more time to talk," Bryan said as she gestured her to a bench in the briefing room. "But I think we're startin' here in a second."

They sat down beside each other.

"That's all right. We'll talk later."

"So how have y—"

The lights in the room suddenly dimmed, and the Admirals took their seats in the front row.

"Ah. Later then," Bryan whispered to Kate.

The holoprojector hummed to life at the center of the room, bringing up the image of the Empire's current, three-fourths completed superweapon, the _Punisher_. Another planet-destroying weapon like the Death Star, it had been under construction for over a year-and-a-half now. Even worse, italways had an immense Imperial fleet guarding it, making it difficult to destroy the dreadful weapon. Even the sight of it would probably be enough to scare off uprisings and riots. Molded in the image of the late Death Star, the _Punisher_ looked like a classic round bomb. It was two-thirds the size of the second Death Star. The spherical surface was dotted with ten separate superlaser firing lenses, and a line at the equator that was the trench that, so far, every Imperial superweapon had had.

Admiral Emilie Rodenski, only recently promoted to Supreme Admiral—commander of the entire Rebel Alliance navy—stood up and approached the holoprojector. She stared at the image with distant but serious eyes. "This is the _Punisher; _the Empire's new superweapon. It is the most dangerous weapon the Empire have ever began building, and it poses the greatest threat than anything else they have ever thrown at us, including the second Death Star. If we want to win this war, than this will _have_ to be destroyed." She leaned down and pushed a button on the console.

The _Punisher_ suddenly became smaller as the projector reduced its size to include a star map and several other Imperial ships. Miniature Star Destroyers, a Super Star Destroyer, TIE Fighters, Carrack Cruisers, and a few other types of Imperial warships were placed in and around the area of the _Punisher_; a fleet. Also crammed into the image was a brown planet off to the right side.

"The image you see is of the Ninth moon of the gas giant Deil. Deil Nine is home to an Imperial supply base where the _Punisher_ is being completed as we speak. It's the final construction site, and it's also the place where _Punisher_ is the most vulnerable. Because of hit-and-run missions in the Phias Sector, a decent amount of the Imperial fleet guarding it have been forced away from it." In the hologram, a few of the miniature red ships disappeared. "They leave behind a small fleet of ships, and don't seem like they're expecting an Alliance attack. But we're going to give them one." She pushed in another button. At first, nothing changed. But a few moments later, new miniature images representing a horde of different Alliance starships—from heavy Cruisers to tiny gunships—entered the giant projection on the side opposite the Imperials. They closed in and stopped, however, awfully close to the Star Destroyers. "The attack will commense in shifts. Shift one will drop out of hyperspace at exactly Mark 402-785. The weapon's range will be point-blank, and starfighters will only launch–will launch only after all carriers have dropped out of hyperspace."

Bryan grinned humorously at her correction. Meanwhile, a loud murmur rippled throughout the crowd. He was about to ask how they knew what shifts they were in, but he then remembered the slips of paper that were handed out before he had sat down. The one that had said SHIFT ONE. _Damn_, he thought.

"Excuse me, Admiral?" said a Haran Commander, "Point-blank? That's crazy! Our ships—"

"—well—"

"—aren't nearly as strong as theirs! How do you expect us to–to _beat_ them at point-blank?"

Emilie looked passively at him. "I don't want to beat them, Commander," she answered. "I want to catch them off guard first, then I want to beat them." She turned her gaze back to the crowd. "Your commanding officers have your shift. Shift one's job is to begin clearing an initial path to the _Punisher_." The Alliance ships in the projection "fired" into the Imperial formation, and a couple of the Star Destroyers disappeared. Then the ships moved into the hole they had made, now halfway to the superweapon. Then the image abruptly switched to another close-up of the _Punisher. _"Once shift one has cleared a path, B-Wing's from Gray Squadron will move in to destroy the _Punisher_ by firing proton torpedoes down all five completed superlaser shafts." Blue silhouettes representing proton torpedoes shot down the superlaser shafts, exploding in small flashes of light when they hit the end of the shafts. "The explosions should destroy ninety percent of the infrastructure." A pause before the image reverted back to the battle between the two fleets. "Shift two will drop into the system twenty minutes later at the same points and help cover shift one." More Alliance ships came into the image and began virtually engaging the Imperials. "Shifts three and four will come in ten minutes after the shift before them, and engage the Imperial fleet, along with shift two once their done covering shift one." Even more Alliance ships came. After a moment, Emilie stepped back up to the control console and pressed a button that shut down the projector.

The lights came up again. Another murmur rippled as the people in the room blinked, some rubbing their eyes, some shielding their eyes from the sudden burst of light.

Bryan leaned towards Kate, blinking twice. "Sounds like a decent plan."

"Yeah."

"Are there any questions?" Emilie asked.

Bryan immediately raised his hand.

"Commander Rawling."

"I know the fleet will be a–be a hard challenge even though th–they're depleted in numbers, but what about the _Punisher_ itself? What threat does it pose us in this attack?"

"From what we know," Emilie answered confidently. "Nothing. It poses no threat to us at all because it's not operational."

"How can you be sure about that? Is the intelligence up to date?"

Grumbles escaped some people's lips, while a few others sat up in their seats; all in response to the second question.

_Intelligence...lackeys_, Bryan thought, feeling a pang of embarrassment at having said that last sentence out loud. Alliance Intelligence had agents everywhere in the Alliance Navy. There were never any natural agents; they were always disguised as navigators, tacticians, engineers, pilots, and even some were captains. For all he knew, Bryan''s closest friends could be Intelligence agents.

Emilie stared at him, also looking somewhat nervous. "It was confirmed and verified yesterday, Commander." She nodded curtly then scanned the room for more hands. "Yes?" she said to a black human sitting in the third row.

"With all due respect, ma'am, we said the same thing about the second Death Star at Endor too."

Murmurs, "yeah"'s, and even a few staunch laughs burst from the crowd.

"But that information was faulty to begin with," Emilie responded, with a hint of doubt. "If I remember correctly..." she let the sentence trail off as she thought about what she was about to say. "The information was faulty," she ended up finishing.

"Palpatine gave us the wrong information on purpose," said another pilot. "He lured us into a trap and nearly destroyed us Admiral."

"Hey now," Bryan interjected. "That doesn't mean that that'll happen again."

"It might though," the man answered.

"The intelligence gathered at Endor was months old by the time the Rebellion attacked," Bryan continued. He gestured at Emilie. "Her's, she said, was verified yesterday, and we're attacking today."

"We—"

"If it wasn't good intelligence then we'd all be going home right now."

"We don't know for sure. That's all I'm saying."

A loud, and somewhat annoyed-sounding murmur escalated from the rest of the crowd.

"All right, that's fine. But at the same time, we don't know if it isn't right either. And I think we should take the chance, if the _Punisher_ is as dangerous as she says."

"Okay," the man said in surrender. "I was just saying."

"All right. I respect your opinion, and I'm sure the Admiral does too."

"Yes," Emilie said with a smile. "I do." She nodded again. "Any other questions?"

None raised their hands.

"All right then. Demand your ships. The attack will be in forty-two minutes, whether you are ready or not. Dismissed."

The crowd began to break up and exit.

"Well, we're attacking the _Punisher_," Bryan said casually.

"Yeah," Kate said. "It's a bit crazy, though, isn't it? That thing is scary-looking."

Bryan shrugged. "Eh, it shouldn't be that bad hopefully. I don't think its operational yet. The power it would take would be...unmatchable. And they still haven't finished the outer hull yet, so the generators might be exposed."

"That's true."

"Yeah, but I hope she's right. That'd be cool to see something like that explode."

Kate smiled and shook her head slowly.

"What?"

She continued to shake her head. "Nothing."

"What is it?"

They walked out of the room through an alcove.

"Nothing," she said more sharply, still chuckling.

"Come on," Bryan said, stopping in the middle of the hallway. "You know that ain't true. What is it?"

She turned to him, still smiling. "Its just..what you said—it was funny."

"What? It was?"

"Yeah."

Bryan raised an eyebrow.

"Well—you just—you made it sound like the only reason to attack the _Punisher_ is to watch it explode."

His eyebrow stayed up.

"What? It just sounded...weird."

They started walking again. "If you say so. Come on. I'll walk ya to the teleporter. We can talk a little while on the way."


	34. Tale 6: Chapter One Part 2

11:59 A.M. En Route to the K'territ system

Flashing a quick glance at the clock, Bryan answered. "I dunno Puck, maybe. I'm really not trying to think about it that much. If it's a trap, then we'll fight our way out. We're good people."

WHAT IF THEY HAVE AN INTERDICTOR? Puck asked.

"Then we'll fight our way out," Bryan repeated more slowly.

OKAY. IF YOU SAY SO.

"Don't worry Puck, it'll be fine." He took a long breath and then sat up a little further to let some of the blood back into his cramped legs. "All right," he said in relief, flashing another glance at his LCD. "ETA forty-six seconds, Puck. You ready?"

YES, FOR THE THIRD TIME.

"Shut up."

The next forty-six seconds passed without a word, except for Puck making fun of Bryan's attempt to stretch in the cramped cockpit. When it came time, he brought the X-Wing out of hyperspace and held his breath. The stars returned to their normal twinkle, and Bryan instinctively searched for any sign of Imperial ships. When he didn't sight anything besides K'territ Seven, he checked the HUD to confirm it. The system was empty.

"Phew," Bryan said in relief. "All right." He flipped on the comlink. "Hailing Cruiser _Liberty_, this is Red Leader. K'territ system is clear. You're clear for entry."

"Copy that, Commander. We're on our way. _Liberty_ out."

Bryan breathed again. "There you go Puck. So far so good."

SO FAR...

"Oh, be quiet." He plotted a new course and headed for it. It wouldn't be long before shift one of the fleet got here.

A minute and-a-half later, the _Liberty_'s bow broke into realspace, on the spot where Bryan had been only a minute ago.

Slowly but surely, shift one followed. Several more Cruisers came next, along with numerous other Alliance starships; in less ten seconds, the area went from empty to full: fifty-one Cruisers; twenty-seven Frigates, forty-three gunships, nineteen corvettes, eleven transports, and two bulk cruisers.

"Nice to ya _Liberty_," Bryan said.

"You too Commander. Hurry back to the _Faith_ though. We'll be making the final jump in another ten minutes here."

"Copy that. On my way back." He searched with the HUD and soon found the _Faith_'s position; luckily it was close to the front of the fleet. He set the appropriate course, and then switched to the _Faith_'s pilot channel. "Heads up _Faith, _I'mmm coming back."

"Roger that Commander."

He arrived with six minutes left until jump, and immediately headed for the Lounge. The fleet wouldn't be arriving at Deil Nine for at least half-an-hour. After he got his usual Fedrellon Glazer, he went back to the hangar to enjoy it with the giddy and anxious pilots that were always hanging out in the corner section where all the cargo crates were stacked. It was there favorite spot to be in in the time before an attack. When he got there, he was surprised to find only a few people, playing cards and drinking their own(nonalcoholic)drinks. Maxie, Yurnold Camikai, and Danny Jefferies.

"Hey guys. Got room for a forth?"

"Yeah, sure—"

"'Eah—"

"Sure—"

"Sweet," Bryan said blandly. He pulled a crate over and sat on Yurnold's left. "Whaddaya playin'?"

"Cressenda," Maxie responded. She threw down a gold Cressenda card, which caused Jefferies to sit back in frustration.

"Dammit." He groaned and threw down a purple Cressenda card.

"You can play after we're done with this game," Maxie told Bryan.

"Fine by me."

The turn now over, Maxie reached out and scooped up all three cards. She put them into her hand, then picked out one card and slapped it down on the crate top. It was another gold card.

Jefferies hesitated a moment, then put down a blue.

Yurnold dropped a second gold. "Cards?"

"Bastard," Maxie said after shaking her head. She wouldn't be able to beat him with a second gold because she didn't have one.

Yurnold picked up the trick and put it into his pile.

From what Bryan saw, Yurnold was leading. He had won about four out of the eight tricks. Maxie was catching up though, with three. Jefferies had absolutely none. He wasn't a very good card player. Bryan couldn't blame him though, He himself wasn't much better.

Yurnold slid a purple card onto the top, his last card.

Maxie threw her black in.

All eyes turned to Jefferies, anxious and tense.

Jefferies looked at both Yurnold and Maxie, then grabbed the upper-right corner of his last card. "Sorry Maxie," he apologized, and threw down a gold.

Maxie smacked her lips and sat back hard against another crate. "Thanks a lot Danny."

Jefferies just shrugged.

Yurnold stretched for a moment, then took up all the cards and started stacking them back up into a deck. He turned to Bryan. "What you wanna play?"

Bryan shrugged. "Let's just play Cressenda again."

"Okay." He scooted over to let Bryan get closer to the crate top, then proceeding to shuffle and deal the cards again, six to a person this time.

Bryan fanned out his six. Two golds, three blues—_three damn blues_—and a black. He quickly organized the cards from strongest to weakest, which didn't take much effort since the blues were already next to each other.

Yurnold started with a purple.

Bryan immediately dropped the first of his blues.

Maxie put down a second purple. She looked at Yurnold. "Cards?"

Yurnold shook his head calmly.

Jefferies put down a gold, and then scooped up the trick. He began next with a blue.

Yurnold slid in a black.

Bryan thought for a moment, then put down his black. "Cards?" he said to Yurnold as he gazed at him.

Yurnold nodded and put down a second black, which automatically made his card superior in this hand.

Bryan only sighed and turned his attention to Maxie.

She put down a purple again.

Yurnold took the trick, then started the next hand with a purple.

Bryan thought for a moment, then put down another blue.

Maxie looked over her cards for a minute, then promptly put down a gold.

Jefferies bit his lip, then decided to throw down a blue. "Cards?" he said to Bryan.

Bryan nodded and brought out his last blue.

The trick went to Maxie. She began next with a black.

Jefferies went with a gold.

Yurnold also went with a gold. "Cards?"

Jefferies shook his head. "Naw."

Bryan surprised Yurnold by putting down his own gold. "Cards?" he chirped.

Yurnold shook his head, and Bryan took the trick.

He put down his last gold and his last card.

Maxie threw out a blue.

Jefferies slapped down a gold. "Cards?"

Bryan just snickered and shook his head.

Yurnold put down a black.

Jefferies took the trick, and slid out a purple.

Yunold was out of cards now.

So was Bryan.

Maxie tossed out a black and took the trick.

Jefferies, now the only one with cards left, simply flew out his last card, a purple, and took the one-card trick. The entire game went to him with him winning his third trick.

_Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought_, Bryan thought to himself.

-

"Launch!"

Bryan flipped on the repulsorlifts, and instantly felt as they lifted his X-Wing into the air. Lifting the landing gear, he didn't hesitate in jamming in the throttle and blasting out of the hangar, leading the way for the starfighters behind him. As soon as he had moved past the shield line, he curved his fighter towards the close Imperial fleet. From all directions and all ships, the Alliance bore down on the surprised Star Destroyers. They had gotten the upper hand, just like Emilie had said they would. The gunners on the Star Destroyers would certainly take a few minutes to get to their guns, giving the Alliance time to bombard them repeatedly without a return shot.

The energy flowing throughout him, Bryan targeted the nearest patrolling TIE Fighter, only one klick away. An instant later, the Fighter and its pilot were dead. He grinned at his kill. But now his urge to see the _Punisher_ in the real life was overbearing. So he looked up.

And frowned in dread and shock. The _Punisher_ was there, but it was...it was...round. The hull was like ball now. That wasn't what it had looked like in the briefing, or on the surveillance photos Alliance Intelligence had managed to get. It was complete. Bryan gulped. _And probably operational too_. He opened a channel to the _Liberty_'s bridge. "_Liberty_ this is Commander Rawling. Emilie, is the _Punisher_ supposed to look like that? You know. Done?"

No answer immediately. Apparently they had seen it too. "No," Emilie then answered herself. "Stand by for further orders." She cut the channel.

Bryan realized what this meant; the _Punisher_ being finished. He felt his chest flood with a terrified warmth, and a noose tighten around his heart.

-

Emilie didn't know what to do. At the moment, all she could do was just stare out at the massive _Punisher_ with distant and scared eyes. Her body was frozen almost, spine locked it its hunched curve.

Her mind raced at lightspeed—questions, options, shouts of terror, orders, explanations: it was starting to drive her crazy.

But she couldn't let herself get carried away. As an Admiral—the Admiral who was in charge of this attack—she had a job to do. Even though, in the back of her mind, she secretly knew it wouldn't make a difference. In a few minutes, hundreds would be killed. She hesitated, then opened a channel to the whole fleet. "We were mislead. All ships this is Admiral Rodenski. Retreat, retreat! I repeat, retreat! Abort mission!"

Out the center window, the numerous Star Destroyers around the fleet suddenly looked three times more dangerous than they had a minute ago. All across the window, starfighters battled each other in numerous dogfights.

The _Liberty_ finally started to turn as Emilie saw space outside bend and angle. The _Punisher_ crept off the upper-right hand corner slowly but surely.

"_Liberty_ and _Chalsoc_ wings," Emilie ordered. "Stick close to sector HA-10. Hold off those Star Destroyers for as long as you can. Fighters help, they're going to need you." She glanced over to Ilan Sarker, the bridge tactician. "Ilan, how long is the space between us and the _Punisher_?"

Ilan checked then answered, "Fifty-one klicks.

"Damn!" Emilie cursed. "Is the superlaser ready to fire!" She called out to Tilleper, the ops officer. _Please, God, don't let it be operational!_

"Thirty seconds, ma'am," Tilleper answered, like a judge reading a death sentence. "All ten are operational."

Emilie wanted to cry. She wanted to believe that this wasn't happening. The intelligence had been verified _yesterday_, for goodness sake! It was supposed to be right. And now...the tears could be felt beading up in her eyes.

The thirty seconds ticked away, the clock counting down to Emilie's execution.

A sharp and alarm-sounding tone blared from the sensor console.

"Here it comes," Tilleper muttered.

"No..." Emilie squeaked. "No..."

-

The _Punisher _sat, undisturbed, even though a battle raged on a distance away. But it was not out of the battle at all.

The four front-facing superlaser barrels lit up with a gradually growing, fiery red light. Then, faster than anyone could blink, the lasers fired at the battling fleets.

The red beams shot past the aft's of Star Destroyers; cut through the dogfighting starfighters, and at last struck the hulls of four targeted Rebel Cruisers.

Then, all was silent once again.

-

Nothing happened, and for a moment Emilie thought her prayer had come true. But then, in the back of her mind, her knowledge of how the _Punisher_'s superlasers' worked came forward in a hurry, and she remembered why there was a delay...

"No..."

At the center of the window, the _Arieun_, one of the Cruiser's hit, tumbled ever so slightly from the force of the beam. Then suddenly, a long explosion blossomed from—Emilie knew—the energy conduits. The explosion followed the maze of conduits, cascading across the _Arieun_'s hull. This happened for only a few seconds, up until the Cruiser's power core overloaded and blew up, taking the rest of the ship with it.

That was finally when the screaming stopped coming over the comlink.

In the time it took to breath one breathe, the _Arieun_, the _Hallower_,the _Maria, _and the _Aurora_ were all destroyed.

-

Bryan couldn't believe his eyes. Hundreds of live were gone. More victims for Afgalan. The _Punisher_ did it faster than anyone could take it in. And it was supposed to be off-line. _Empire fooled us again. Bastards_. Bryan felt the blood burn to lava in his heart; felt it shoot its way into his muscles and body. His temperature rose higher and higher, and his eyes lit up with a fire ten times as powerful as the _Punsiher _ever would be. If he could hit something, he would have. Hard too. He let his anger fuel his drive for survival, and continued to fight on...

...As the Imperial fleet moved to block the Alliance's escape vector.


	35. Tale 6: Chapter One Part 3

The stars streaked back in forth in blurry white lines as Bryan juked side to side, dodging the potshots from the two TIEs chasing him. The space around him was lit up with tiny explosions as the dogfight continued. So far the Alliance was keeping the Imperials from blocking their escape route, and a few dozen of the smaller ships had made the jump to hyperspace. The past twenty minutes had still been hell though. Nineteen Cruisers and one Frigate had been destroyed, including Admiral Kensic's ship, the _Chalsoc_. Emilie was constantly giving orders, and Bryan feared it would only be a matter of time before she too would perish at the beam of the _Punisher_.

Bryan maneuvered below the underside of the Frigate _Asender_, zooming fast towards a dogfight being fought around the Cruiser _Perion, _hoping that someone could help him out with his chasers. "A little help here if anyone can spare it." He felt his X-Wing shudder as the shields sucked up more TIE fire. Bryan flashed a glance at the HUD. Shields were down to fifty-seven percent. Not good. He jammed the accelerator and flew head-on into the fray. Lasers bolted and ships veered and bulleted this way and that, a giant mosh pit of chaos. But at his speed, Bryan was able to fly through and clear the mess without any more damage. The TIEs, however, stuck with him.

But that didn't last for much longer.

"I'm on it, Bryan," Kate Steigerwald's voice came over the comlink. "Just keep flying towards Mark 334-223. I'll help you."

Bryan looked around for his old friend. But her X-Wing was no where in sight, not even on the HUD. So he kept flying, juking when he had to to keep the TIEs chasing him.

Suddenly, from inside the _Perion_ dogfight, an X-Wing broke free, hugging the _Perion_'s starboard hull, flying faster and faster towards Bryan. That was Kate: Red Thirty-two. She chased behind him until he was almost past the Cruiser's bow, shields now at thirty-nine percent, then finally barrel-rolled away from the Cruiser and placed the TIEs on either side of her X-Wings nose. Immediately firing, the long distance shots went unnoticed to the TIEs until the right TIE lost half its left wing, causing it to abandon the chase and break formation. Bryan veered at a descending forty-five degree angle towards the _Perion_, dodging another laser blast, and giving Kate a few more seconds to lock the other TIE in her sights. It didn't take her long. Now closer, she unleashed another round of laser fire. The bolts shredded the TIEs engines and cockpit, and the little ship exploded an instant later after a shower of sparks.

Bryan heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks Kate. I owe ya one."

"No problem."

He turned away from her and the Cruiser, sighting the place where he thought he would be needed the most; the very front of the battle: the escape route that was trying to stay open. It didn't take him long to realize that that wasn't happening. In fact, they had failed. Five Imperial Star Destroyers had taken perimeter positions in front of coordinates Mark 649-070 through Mark 862-563. At least seven more were on the way, including the Super Star Destroyer _Titan. _The Cruisers' escape wasn't looking good.

And no sooner had he spotted it then Emilie Rodenski's voice began to bark out more orders over the com; her voice alone, no one speaking over it. "They're closing us in! Concentrate all fire on those Star Destroyers blocking our exit. Every ship!" Her voice left the comlink, and it became a fight in itself, voices overlapping every other voice.

Bryan spoke next, yelling as loud as we could. "You heard the lady! Don't bicker, don't argue! Just do it!" He charged straight ahead towards the front line dogfight, blood rushing, shields now charged back up to above sixty. "Here we go Puck."

LET'S GO.

"Mother fuckers."

Maxie squeezed the trigger and braced herself for the aftershock, shooting a storm of lasers at her targets.

One Fighter and an Interceptor had just sliced up a flight of four B-Wings, splitting them up and destroying one. The death scream still echoed in Maxie's mind. The laser volley made short work of the Interceptor, and it only took a tiny course adjustment to pick off the Fighter.

"All right, Gray Thirteen, your group should be clear for now. I got your back. Green Fourteen and Twenty-three help me out, we've got to protect those B-Wings."

"Copy five."

"Copy five."

"Thanks Colonel," said a voice that Maxie guessed was Gray Thirteen. Heart pounding, she dropped her A-Wing behind the three remaining B-Wings and kept a sharp lookout for any attacking TIEs, her eyes jumping from the darkness of space to the deep, swamp-green HUD screen. Seeing the scarce amount of red blips on the screen was a relief and made her thankful that she had zoomed in on the monitor to block out the craziness of the battle. It was getting to be overwhelming.

Ahead, fiery hot torpedo silhouettes rocketed at full speed towards the targeted Star Destroyer. They converged slowly, homing in on the two shield generators atop the command deck.

The B-Wings then broke formation, Maxie following suite, every one of them being harassed by the Destroyer's powerful turbolasers.

The torpedoes were too small to hit though, and they smashed and exploded unforgivingly into the generators. For a moment the entire command deck disappeared under a gigantic fireball. When space cleared away the flames, both shield generators were sparking and were missing their domed tops.

"Shields are down," Maxie said to basically no one. "Fourteen and Twenty-three on me, let's finish this thing. Target the ioni–ion–" she moaned. "That—ball thing on the bottom side." She heard someone laugh at her through the comlink. But Maxie didn't find this funny. "You know what I mean!" she snapped. "Quit laughing and do it before a TIE blows your ass up!"

The laughing stopped, and the two A-Wings fell in on either side of her own. The triangle flew below the top hull and then doubled back towards the belly of the beast-like starship. Tiny explosions blossomed from all over the Destroyer, as the Alliance starships fired salvo after salvo. Targeting the large hub reactor near the back end, she waited patiently for the cross hairs to go from blank, yellow, then red, all the while juking to avoid Star Destroyer pot shots. The hairs went to red, and Maxie keyed off two rounds on concussion missiles towards the reactor. Green's Fourteen and Twenty-three fired a split second later.

They were now closing in too close; the Star Destroyer loomed larger with each passing second.

"Break!" Maxie ordered. Bracing herself, she jammed the throttle to full. Instantly she was thrown back against her seat, the force of gravity pinning her against her chair. She fought against the pull to push the stick forward, gliding the A-Wing down and away from the Destroyer. And she laughed the whole way. Yes, she was now acting like a hypocrite, but there was a reason she chose to fly an A-Wing: for the thrill and the speed of the ride. The A-Wing was the fastest fighter the Alliance had, and Maxie always enjoyed a thrill.

Meanwhile, the concussion missiles made quick work of the reactor, destroying almost all of it in one volley. Although Maxie couldn't remember the name of it, she knew what happened when it was destroyed. The primary reactor inside the Destroyer became de-ionized and unstable—magnetic. Ten seconds after the reactor exploded, the primary one began to magnetize. All at once, the Star Destroyer's hull was yanked inward, as if pulled by a giant. The observation and command modules at the base of the command tower caved in at the pull, duranium collapsing on duranium, an avalanche of tumbling metal. It became a pile of trash sticking to the pull of the core. Even the remains of the shield generator, sparking still, were yanked, taking two small chunks of the tower with them. The ship twitched and jolted as it became more unstable. It then started pitching terribly, right and left, up and down; bow swinging like a club, until it finally stopped altogether and tumbled, drifting ghost-like in frozen space. It was no longer a threat.

Maxie didn't look back as she changed course, not exactly knowing where she was going. "Nice hunting everyone. Let's move on to the next one. Would you mind if it was on of those Destroyer's blocking our exit?"

"Sure thing Colonel," Gray Thirteen. "Just give us some cover again."

"You got it. Fourteen, Twenty-three stick with us."

Hesitation, then:

"Copy Five."

"Copy Five."

Maxie felt like chiding them; she knew why there was a hesitation. They didn't seem to like her, probably because of her yelling a few minutes ago. She didn't care though. Toughness came with a command job. At least that's what Bryan had taught her. And once again, for the umpteenth time in the last few months, she felt a tingle go down her spine at the thought of finally having her own command after nearly one-and-half years of being Bryan's right hand "man" as it were. Readiness filled her. She knew she could do the job, if only there was an opening...

But now was not the time to think about that. She might not even get a command, much less survive this battle; if she was lucky...

"Heads up, she's firin' again!" she heard someone shout over the comlink.

Heart filling with dread, Maxie's senses hyped up in anticipation of the _Punisher_ firing its next four superlasers. The energy readings from the superweapon surged, and then were nothing a moment later. Maxie spotted one of the beams, a good distance away from her, streak across the stars—and collided with a Star Destroyer! Maxie could barely contain her laughter at the site of the _Punisher_ hitting one of her own ships, even by accident. _Idiots_, she thought. Still amused, she checked the HUD for the other casualties. Besides the Star Destroyer,–God that was still funny–the Cruiser _Teraswey_ had been destroyed, along with the Cruiser _Putchera_, and finally, the Cruiser—

Maxie's eyes welled up with tears almost instantly after she read the last one.

—the _Faith._

The _Faith_.

Bryan read it, even out loud once, but he couldn't believe it.

All at once, a thousand things seemed to happen. The faces of those on board the _Faith _flashed into his mind, like picture slides; the tech crew, Darlow Nihil, Neelix, Pora; the officers, Vanessa Hiller(who thankfully was in a hospital with mono at this moment), the substitute Captain, Fash Deser, Lieutenant Ver Cadlo and the bridge crew; all gone. Even pictures of the pilots, most of whom were still alive; Maxie, Kevin and Evan, Danny Jefferies, Yurnold. For a moment, his heart had thought they were on board when the _Faith_ exploded but his brain told him that they were in the battle, still alive. However, that train of thought lead to another; the _Faith _pilots that had perished already: Dassa Frull, Haro Lur'terrt, Lindsay Raker, Karmu Dellik, most of the B-Wing pilots...

There were other friends from other ships that he'd lost, but he dare not think of them or else he'd get lost in thought and be finished before he knew it. So he shoved the dead out of his brain and continued fighting. Mourning would come later. He still had something to fight for now.

Emilie Rodenski was starting to lose her voice from all her shouting. This battle had turned into a fray of chaos, which was bad for her because she hated messes. And this one...

She watched the corner of the viewport as the Frigate _Salvation_ suffered dozens of small explosions as three Imperial Star Destroyers ate it alive. It's neck had already been cut in half, and was bleeding debris and fluids. Emilie forced herself to look away from it, and saw, straightaway, TIEs chasing Rebel fighters all over the map, several of them scoring mortal hits to the outnumbered Rebel ships. On the left side of the view, the Cruiser _Perion_'s core exploded, consuming the massive ship in one huge ball of flame. Emilie winced and hissed out a breath, eyes closed, trying to fight back her tears. She would have given up if duty allowed it. But it didn't. She _had_ to get her people out of this, no matter what. Which meant that crying wasn't an option right now.

"Emilie!" Ilan shouted. "The Cruiser _Independence _got through the blockade. It's sending us its coordinates. Mark 755-136 through Mark 801-068. That's where the blockade is the weakest."

"Good," Emilie said. "Tell the _Independence_...nevermind." She watched in the distance as the _Independence _plunged into hyperspace, followed by the Frigate _Caratur._ Her mind calmed down and began to think again. "What's the nearest capital ships to those coordinates?"

Ilan ran the commands into his console. "Ummm–here it is–the Cruisers' _Defiance, Returion, Wasuk, Libordeon, _and the Frigate _Jollow._"

"That'll be fine," Emilie concluded. "Open a channel to only those ships."

A beat.

"Channel open."

"To everyone that's hearing this, this is Admiral Rodenski. There's a weak spot in the Imperial blockade at coordinates M 755-136 through M 801-068. Your job is to clear the Imperial ships completely from those coordinates so we can try and make our escape. You'll get more help once you've cleared the way. And don't worry, I'll have the entire rest of the fleet watch your back. Rodenski out." She paused to catch her breath. "Ilan, open a broadband channel to every ship in the fleet save the ones I just talked to."

"Aye, ma'am."

A beat.

"Channel open."

Emilie stood up. "This is Admiral Rodenski. We've found a weak spot in the Imperial blockade, in between the coordinates M 755-136 through M 801-068. I've already sent a detachment to clear that area: the _Defiance, Returion, Wasuk, Libordeon, _and _Jollow_. The rest of the fleet is to engage as many Imperial ships as they can so that the detachment can do its job without getting outnumbered. _Only_ battle those ships not between M 755-136 through M 801-068. Rodenski out."

Tilleper turned around to face her. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I still think we should–"

"Not now Tilleper."

"–call in the other ships. We could easily clear this blockade."

"No, Tilleper!" Emilie snapped. "The more ships we call in, the more that have to leave, the more time this is going to take. No." A pause. "We can get out of this ourselves."

Justin snapped the joystick to the left and set the throttle to full, which wasn't much speed for a Y-Wing. But it did get him out of the clustered battle raging behind him. He had enough of those types of fights.

However, doing that caused him to look ahead of him at an X-Wing spiraling out of control, in flames, and then exploding. Justin looked away and veered his Y-Wing to the right. "This battle is _not_ going well," he said quietly to himself.

AFFIRMATIVE, said his astromech droid, who he had named R2.

Justin laughed stagnantly, then targeted an unsuspecting TIE Interceptor. It was charging towards a damaged Medium Transport. Justin set a course to come down right on top of it, and kept the throttle at full. He slowly crept up on the TIE, and fired at the right moment. The little gray TIE flew straight into the lasers, and then madly corkscrewed out of control, sparking then blowing up.

"Ha ha," Justin said proudly. "What a moron."

"Justin," said a static-drenched voice.

Justin glanced strangely down at the com. "Um, yes?"

"It's Sam," said the voice again, not sounding any clearer.

"Oh. It's you. Sorry, Sam, you're breaking up on this end."

He heard her groan in irritation. "Justin, can you hear me?"

"Yeah, but–"

"That's good enough. Okay, Admiral Rodenski said that we have to clear the blockade at Mark 755-136 through Mark 801-068. Get over here and help us," she ordered, rather sharply.

"Okay, okay. Just say the word, babe, and I'm there. But shouldn't you tell the others?"

"I already did. Everyone else is already over here. We have to do this though. Berislo out."

Justin changed course, heading back towards the _Defiance_. "What's she talking about? R2, did we get any messages from Sam?"

NOT THAT I CAN REMEMBER.

"Hmm." He shrugged. "Eh, it was probably a glitch in the system. With these..._old_ things, I wouldn't put it path–pu_t_ i_t_ past them." He chuckled inside at his speech error. Taking a deep breath, he took a long look at the skirmish ahead of him: two Star Destroyers duking it out against three Cruisers, the _Defiance_ leading them, a Frigate, and a small hive of Rebel fighters. Although it seemed the odds favored the Alliance, Justin knew for a fact that the Empire had the upper hand; one Star Destroyer was supposedly enough firepower to take on a whole Alliance task force. Two Destroyer's versus three Cruisers was going to be a close match. Readjusting the microphone, he signaled the _Defiance. _"Justin to _Defiance_. I need orders Sam."

Flying low alongside the _Defiance_'s starboard side, Justin glanced over at it, as if expecting the ship to give him an answer. Static suddenly jolted into his earpiece, scaring him so much that he hit his head on the canopy. He would have jumped a meter into the air if he had the room. Finally, a voice crackled through the mess. "Right-side Star Destroyer needs help," said Gessy Stiyler, the _Defiance_'s tactician. "Green and Red group's got your back. Stiyler ou–"

"Wait how's Sam doing. Is she all right?"

Justin heard what he swore was an irritated groan.

"She's fine, Justin. Get to work. Stiyler out."

Justin heard the click of the comlink, and felt a sudden urge to punch Stiyler in the face. It didn't take much to just look at someone; look at their face for a second and just see if Sam was all right. Was that so hard? He was worried about her, that's all. The last five months had been hard on her, stressful; with the _Defiance _having been stuck in dry dock for repairs the entire time. It had been a part of Admiral Colvon's defense force when the Empire pushed an offensive against the Finnit sector seven months earlier, and it had taken the most damage out of any of them by far. Eighty percent of the crew had died, and the ship had practically been annihilated. He couldn't count the number of times she had woken up in the middle of the night screaming and/or sweating from her nightmares. And he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, the Captain, to deal with all the deaths of not just her crew, but a good deal of her friends. To add even more pressure, she had to sit around and do nothing for an entire five months while the _Defiance_ was getting repaired. This had been bad on Justin, because not only did he have his duties as a pilot, which he was able to get out of until the Empire attacked the dry dock they were stationed at while Sam was going through a depression spell, but she sometimes didn't even want to talk to him. He wanted to help her but he couldn't.

And now she was being forced to make up battles plans for her ship during an attack that had gone wrong, all the while trying to clear the way for the fleet to escape, all eyes on her, all pressure on her. Naturally, Justin had a right to be worried.

R2 tweedled. HEADS UP, came the response on the monitor. INTERCEPTOR ON OUR SIX.

Justin's eyes widened, and instinct made him turn and look out the back viewport. He frowned when he saw the Interceptor homing in on him, fast. "Shit!" he whispered intensely, then banked the Y-Wing to starboard just as the Imperial started firing away. Interceptor's, like all TIEs, had rapid-fire installed into their four laser cannons, giving the pilot a steady stream of fire, which wasn't good for Justin in his slow, somewhat outdated Y-Wing. He swerved and banked as the Interceptor poured on the fire. His shields took too many hits, and forced Justin to jam in the port rudder pedal. That sent the fighter into a barrel roll, aimed in the direction of the _Defiance_. Head spinning, Justin kept his foot on the pedal but pulled back on the stick a little, leveling the fighter out. The Interceptor followed him down, firing away and scoring five back-to-back hits on his aft shield. The rest of the shots impacted the Cruiser's heavy shields. Justin, head spinning, kept the fighter in a roll but yanked it to the right, going back across the Cruiser's surface. The agile Interceptor followed though and Justin, getting very dizzy, let go of the pedal and straightened out. Blinking quickly, he flew, close, along the contour of the Cruiser's hull. Several chases passed him by, all Imperial's after Rebels. Up ahead, another Y-Wing flew parallel to the _Defiance_, unchallenged. The next second, another Interceptor came out of no where and fired a long volley of lasers, which hit the anonymous Y-Wing dead on. The fighter sparked then exploded in under a second. Justin winced, trying hard not to imagine that being him. But that Y-Wings's shields must have down, and his weren't quite—weren't yet.

GULP.

"Quiet R2."

Veering from side-to-side, Justin saw an Alliance corvette, relatively free of any attack, with its shields at a strong seventy percent. He banked to port and flew straight at it. The Interceptor followed, still firing relentlessly. _Come on_, Justin prodded. _Keep coming_. The TIE's lasers that missed sailed on to hit the corvette, and after a lot of misses, Justin had to guess that the corvette was getting a little annoyed. And he guessed right. A few seconds later, the corvette's two powerful turbolaser turrets fired several shots in Justin's direction. With a slight chuckle, Justin veered out of the way and allowed the shots to fly past him. Three missed, but the forth one smashed into the TIE's right solar panel, snapping it off like a twig. The Interceptor spun madly out of control showered in sparkles. The ship then overheated and blew up. With a sigh of satisfaction, Justin reset his course again, heading for his target, the right-side Star Destroyer.

Captain Samantha Berislo dug her fingers into her chair's armrests, and she felt the ship rock beneath her hands and feet.

And, as usual, it didn't take long before their was an answer as to why. Sam always loved to run an efficient ship.

"Proton torpedo to aft-starboard primary thruster," reported Lieutenant Gessy Stiyler from tactical. "Shields are holding, thruster undamaged."

"Where's our cover?" Sam asked to no one.

An awkward pause for a moment.

Then, through slightly gritted teeth, Stiyler muttered, "They're doing the best they can, ma'am." He turned back to her with a grim look. "It's not easy though."

Sam glared back at him. "I do not need any smart-ass comments right now, Lieutenant!" she snapped.

Stiyler continued to stare. "I wasn't. I was only _trying_ to–"

"Shut up and turn around!"

With one last smug look at her, he briskly turned back to his console.

"You back talk me again and you're in the brig!" Sam barked at him. "I don't need this right now!" With a long breath, she now focused on her objective. "What's the status of the Star Destroyers?"

Rebellious attitude still in place, Stiyler checked the readings. "Star Destroyer one has taken damage to its shield generator, however shields are still over eighty percent. Weapons still pose a very significant threat. Star Destroyer two has taken heavy damage to it's command modules, and its shields are only at twenty-one percent, turbolaser recharge rate down to one-and-a-half minutes each. It should be easy to handle."

"Mmhmm," Sam muttered. "How long until the _Punisher _can fire again?"

"Four minutes," Carna Garrip, the ship's operations officer, answered.

"Okay," Sam said strangely. Biting her lip, she thought of her plan of action and made a quick decision. "We're going after the left Star Destroyer. All ships open fire on the _left _Star Destroyer, but keep the fighters attacking the right-side one."

Stiyler hesitated a moment. "Aye, ma'am."

Sam fixed him with a look for a split second, then changed her position in the chair in an attempt to relax herself. "Target the shield generators; move to point blank, I want to make this a quick strike, before the _Punisher_ fires again."

Justin watch patiently as the cross-hairs went red, then pulled the trigger and fired a single torpedo. He quickly changed target's to the third and final primary engine, and fired a second torpedo. One right after the other, the torps punctured the two engines and exploded, blowing off a good percent of the aft hull with each hit. Barely able to contain his pride and excitement, Justin pulled off away from the Destroyer, preparing to go around for another pass. The massive Imperial ship floated slowly along its initial course, nothing propelling it, being carried by space as dark as the Empire. "Engines are gone on the Destroyer guys," Justin spoke into the comlink.

"Nice shot Justin," Patricia O'Sheen complimented. "I got the final pass on the bridge."

His mind still on Sam, Justin shrugged and turned around to make the next pass. Suddenly, a new course and a new idea popped into his mind, and he started for the bottom of the Destroyer. "I call the ionization reactor."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a sec. That's mine bitch," Pat challenged.

Justin smirked. "Not if I can help it, woman. It's already in my sites. Haha." That was a tiny little lie; he wasn't _that_ close yet but he would definitely reach the target before Pat. Most of the guns on the Star Destroyer had been destroyed or disabled, so nothing opposed him as made his charge on the reactor.

But then R2 let out a loud tone. INCOMING WAVE. AT LEAST TWENTY-FOUR NEW TIES BEARING MARK 421-953 FROM THE _PUNISHER_'S DIRECTION!

"Where?"

R2 brought up the chart on the HUD and showed Justin exactly where the TIEs were coming from. A mob of blips charging "down the hill" to the battle, heading specifically for Justin.

"You might wanna change your mind, Pat. We got a bitch-load of TIEs coming in." Jamming the throttle to full, Justin placed the reactor in the center of his crosshair and fired away, just barely in range. A line of red lasers extended from one end at the Y-Wing's guns to the other end at the reactor. With the bottom shield gone, the shots easily starting cutting through the armor around the reactor, but it would take a good amount to penetrate it. And with those TIEs closing in fast, Justin wished that it would penetrate soon. Glancing from TIEs to reactor, TIEs to reactor, Justin began to feel his heart beat quicken. Then R2 gave him more bad news.

LASER'S ARE STARTING TO OVERHEAT.

But Justin had already noticed that. "I see that, R2, just a little more..."

Just as he said that, a chunk of the reactor blew off over where the lasers had been hitting. The exposed remainder immediately began sparking and exploding in small chunks. Knowing that it would soon de-magnetize, Justin practically choked the throttle and blasted off, trying to put as much distance as he could from the dying Star Destroyer. After nearly six seconds, he finally began to feel the pull of the magnetic field forming around the primary core. It yanked and tugged at his Y-Wing, and Justin, hands firmly grasping the joystick, battled with his aging fighter to keep it under his control. Side-glancing all around him, Justin saw his comrades' ship's jerk and veer, them caught in the same vortex of raw force.

Behind them, the Destroy—the _Raptor_(Justin finally saw its name in the upper-left hand corner of his HUD, him thinking of the Corellian gunship that he knew that had the same name—) convulsed and surged as everything on it and in it was pulled towards the core. With one final toss that coincided with an explosion blossoming from the top surface, the _Raptor_ ceased pitching; all the power shut off; the lights went out; and the ship drifted, a dead weight, helpless.

The Y-Wing escaped the magnetic field and returned to normal flying, as did all the fighters around it.

"Everyone all right?" Justin asked, looking around at them.

"Yeah–"

"I'm fine–"

"Yeah–"

"I'm okay–"

"Good, because that was one helluva pull it had on us," Justin said with a chuckle.

"Yeah–"

"That's for–"

"Definitely–"

"Whoa!" Justin said as he watched another Alliance Cruiser explode from an assault by the Super Star Destroyer _Titan_. The explosion took a Medium Transport and a gunship with it, and reminded Justin that one Star Destroyer meant nothing in the long run of the battle; they were still losing badly, and the destroyed Cruiser served as a reminder of that.

"Fighters coming back," someone said over the com. "Heeeeads up."

All the Rebel's turned to face the oncoming attack, Justin included, Pat moving in on his right wing. "Let's go get 'em!" she said excitedly.

Smirking joyfully, Justin targeted a Fighter and closed in. Seven Rebels versus twenty-four Imperials...fun, fun, fun. Concussion missiles flared towards targets, breaking up part of the twenty-four. Some even caught up and destroyed their targets.

1.9 klicks...1.8 klicks...

Justin's index finger itched to pull the trigger.

1.7 klicks...1.6 klicks...

Justin pointed the nose down and fired away, and watched as his targeted Fighter ran right into the lasers and blew up. He had no time to celebrate the kill though, and immediately pulled up to face the rest of the TIEs as they and the Rebels exchanged fire. Red and green light flooded Justin's vision as space suddenly became a madhouse again. He set his shields to double-front and plowed into the mess, firing at nothing in particular, and destroying another TIE without much effort. _Imperial's are stupid_.

But he didn't have time to fight all these Imperials. He had a Star Destroyer to attack. And a Y-Wing wasn't good in ship-to-ship combat. So he broke off from the battle and headed for his next target.

HEADS UP, R2 tweedled. BEHIND US COMING IN FAST.

Justin sighed and rolled his eyes. _I'm really getting sick of him saying that._ He looked back and saw the alleged TIE, chasing after him and closing. Justin grabbed hold of the stick and prepared evasive maneuvers. Right as he was about to move, a red light flashed right by the TIE and blew it into a million pieces. A scarred X-Wing burst through the wreckage and fell into formation beside Justin. It was, of course, Pat O'Sheen. And judging by the condition her ship was in, Justin hoped she was all right. "That X-Wing isn't lookin' too good there Pat," he commented, expecting the battered starfighter from hind to front. Black scorches were imbedded all along the hull, with dents punched in every few meters. One engine was flickering on and off, causing the X-Wing to flinch and jitter every few seconds or so.

Inside the cockpit, he saw Pat lift then drop her shoulders. "So long as my shields stay up, everything else is fine."

"I don't know, Pat. It doesn't look safe from over here."

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine. Let's take down that Star Destroyer." Pat accelerated up and off to starboard. "You attack, I'll take the fighters."

Justin watched her battered X-Wing bungle towards a four-flight of TIE Interceptors about to attack the Frigate _Jollow_. "Gung-ho to the last," he said aloud. He finally turned and got his first look at the second Star Destroyer—in the registry as the _Yeliaz. _He couldn't help but feel sorry for the ship: it was being swarmed by fighters, attacking on all sides; it was surrounded by the Cruiser's and the _Jollow_. Every laser blast picked apart the _Yeliaz_'s shields; a steadily declining percentage on Justin's HUD. The total percentage was just below fifty.

Then, the comlink surged with static again, and caused Justin to jump in surprise for the second time.

"This is the _Defiance_," came the sharp voice of his wife, and it sounded like she was stressed, so Justin started to get worried all over again. "Keep your last torpedoes. Do not, repeat do _not_ fire any more torpedoes at the—Star Destroyer until I tell you to." A momentary pause. "Target the dorsal shield and fire on my mark."

Justin obeyed and switched back to lasers, keeping his final two torpedoes.

"_Wasuk_ to fighte–!" someone suddenly shouted over the comlink. "–e nee—stance!"

Justin didn't need to check his HUD to find the Cruiser _Wasuk_. It was the only Cruiser that was taking a severe beating by both the _Yeliaz_ and numerous TIE Bombers. It's surface was all black from battle scars and craters were on almost every meter of the outer hull. The ship was spinning on an axis, shields down for good. Bow pointed to open and unhindered space, the Cruiser was trying immensely to leave the battlefield and lose its attackers, but the Bomber's weren't making that easy. Only a single pair of thrusters were working. And as Justin got his first look at the _Wasuk_, a proton torpedo impacted inside an already huge crater near the aft. A moment later, the Cruiser suddenly let loose a vile explosion that swallowed it whole. When space finally sucked the air out of the fire, all that remained were thousands of pieces of debris darting harmlessly in all directions. Justin swallowed hard and looked away. More casualties...too many had been lost now. His eyes fell on the _Defiance_. "Justin to _Defiance_. Sam, whatever you're planning to do, do it _now_."

"Justin, shut up! Don't call unless you have something important to say!" his wife responded. She cut the channel, then came back on a general channel. "All fighters: one torpedo each on the dorsal shield of the Star Destroyer; mark!"

Justin pulled back on the stick, then pushed it down again to get the dorsal shield in his sights. Switching to his torpedoes, Justin waited patiently for the crosshair to go red. It took only a few seconds as it warmed up from yellow to red. He then released his lone torpedo and broke off. His torpedo, along with at least a dozen others and a few concussion missiles, hit the shields hard. In an instant, the percentage died from thirty-nine percent to zero. Two torpedoes breached through the barrier and impacted the hull, biting two whole chunks into the surface. When the shrapnel finally cleared, all that remained were four Y-Wings descending upon the _Yeliaz_ in a plain diamond formation. They had polished hulls and were undamaged. Justin surmised that they had never even entered the battle up until now. Four brand new-looking Y-Wings amongst dozens of damaged, blackened, sparking, limping starfighters all around space, with the stars twinkling like oil lanterns in a dark, stormy night.

The Y-Wings swooped to a relatively close strafe level above the _Yeliaz_, still in their original diamond formation. Moments later, when the Imperials finally realized they were about to be attacked and opened up their guns, the Y-Wings opened their bomb bays and shot down bombs shaped like eggs, gold in color.

They were heavy space bombs, the most powerful shells in the galaxy; filled to the bolts with lukanium dynamite and Typyr explosives. One had enough power to single-handedly destroy a Rebel corvette, shields and all.

In what seemed like total desperation, the Star Destroyer's guns fired wildly at the bombs, trying to prevent them from hitting their target. It gave the _Yeliaz_ an appearance of insanity. Justin was well out of range of the guns so he had nothing to worry about except for the TIEs. And for now, none were chasing him. Looking around for anyone who might need help, he spotted an X-Wing chasing two TIE Fighters above him and awfully close to the _Yeliaz_. Justin realized that it was Pat, judging by the identification that his HUD told him, and how the X-Wing was limping to one side.

Looking up at the starfighter, Justin keyed his comlink. "Pat–"

He didn't get to finish his warning.

The explosion from the bombs blinded him. Each one collided and exploded at the same time, hitting the surface at almost every section; the module's, the bow, even the bridge was taken up in a fiery hurricane. The four Y-Wings pulled up and out of the way in time, as the _Yeliaz_ disappeared under the coat of orange.

Shielding his eyes, Justin couldn't figure out why he was so alarmed all of a sudden. This meant that the Star Destroyer was...wait a minute!

Pat!

Now he remembered: a split-second before the bombs hit, Pat's X-Wing had taken a hit from the _Yeliaz_'s guns, and had erupted into a flaming shooting star.

Luckily, the explosion lost its oxygen rather quickly, and the brightness died. Immediately, Justin's eyes scanned around for any sign of his friends ship. He finally found it—and his heart sunk. Pat's ship was tail-spinning out of control, down and away from the TIEs she had been chasing.

"Pat!" Justin cried over the comlink. All he got back was static. Then the fuel tank exploded and scattered her X-Wing into hundreds of little bits, and Patricia O'Sheen died. Justin tried to cry out again, but nothing came out of his gaping mouth. So he closed it.

_DAMN! FUCKING, FUCKING DAMN! GODDAM BASTARDS! They...THEY'RE MURDERERS. ALL FUCKING...ALL OF THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS...AHHH!_

He forced those thoughts, those shouts of anger, out of his mind and tried to breath and concentrate. To take Pat's death off his mind, he switched over to Admiral Rodenski's fleet channel.

"–eed to your jump coordinates," was the first thing he heard the Admiral say. "Lead the way out Captain Berislo. To all other ships, move towards the hole in the blockade but keep the Imperials at bay, we don't want them to close the gap again. In fact, I'm—I'm going to divide you into task forces. Task force one will be the Cruisers...um, the Cruiser's _Justice, Iolarion, Defaera, _and _Juliak_. Those Cruisers are to safeguard the hole until the first task force has entered hyperspace, then it's their turn. I'll name the task forces as we go along."

"Won't that leave us vulnerable to the _Punisher_?" someone asked.

"Not if you move fast enough it won't."

"But we'd still be–"

"Rid, we're always going to be vulnerable to the _Punisher. _There's no way to change that. More people are going to die no matter what." A long pause ensued. "Now let's get moving people. We have a way out, let's not lose it. Rodenski out."

Justin let her words sink in. _That's right_, he thought. _People are still going to die_. He sighed and turned back towards the _Defiance_ and the rest of the Cruisers that were now slowly trudging to the exit. His eyes soon found the _Jollow_ too, a second before the Frigate's engines lit up and transported the ship into hyperspace and out of the battle. Justin felt a sense of relief at this. Another ship had escaped. More people were saved.

Watching the _Jollow_ leave, Justin didn't see the _Punisher_'s energy readings spike and fall. He was starting to relax into his seat a little more until a crimson-red beam shot by his Y-Wing on the port side. The _Punisher_'s superlaser ran its course, keeping Justin in suspense until—

"Noo!"

—the beam hit the _Defiance_ on its aft-right side, blowing a hole into the hull.

"Justin to _Defiance_! Sam! Sam, are you all right!"

Nothing. Justin hurried.

"Sam, can you hear me! Sam!"

Justin was now charging full-speed towards his wife's ship. Fighter's dogfighting blew past his canopy, shot past his fighter in all directions.

The first series of explosions started on the _Defiance_. Lines of orange burst along the Cruiser's hull on all sides. The engines exploded, taking the whole aft hub with it. The ship was thrown off a straight course, twisting it around.

Justin listened to the comlink, hoping to hear an answer from his wife, or anyone for that matter. "DAMN IT, STIYLER," he shouted, breaking the quiet of the cockpit. "OPEN THE FUCKING—!"

The bridge exploded into little bits like thunder, and Justin's eyes reflected the fire of lightning. The comlink went dead, and Justin practically broke the control shutting it off.

JUSTIN, CALM DOWN.

"Shut up, R2–"

Secondary explosions bruised the surface and wiped out more of the _Defiance_.

"–Don't talk to me right now."

The main core went next, and burst the Cruiser apart for good. Hunks of debris shot freely away from the devastated piece of space the _Defiance_ had just been floating in.

JUSTIN...

"Shut _up_, R2...or I'll eject you from your socket."

OH, YOU CAN'T DO THAT.

"Well I feel like it all right? Now shut up!"

ALL RIGHT. FINE.

_She's gone...she's gone_.

His eyes were staring ahead, but he wasn't looking at space. All he saw was his heart caving in and turning into a black, empty hole darker and deeper than space. The one person he loved the most in the entire world, the star of his eye, the...

_No, don't think about her_. _It'll only make it worse. Justin, you can't..._

She was so beautiful though. Everything about her...physically, mentally; smartest girl he knew. Her spirit was something he had come to rely on in the past few years. He loved being with her, even when she wasn't in her happiest mood. He always found ways to make her smile, and she always found reason to smile; a smile he adored...just to hear her voice again...oh God, he loved her...

There were a thousand things he could describe; could talk about her for the rest of his life until he died. He'd die talking about her...

It sucked. She was finally beginning to recover from the stress of the last few months. Finally, she was smiling more than frowning. She slept more now, instead of crying over her dead shipmates and cussing out the Empire in her nightmares. Everything was getting better; and yes she was stressed from the battle but she was handling it with flying colors. Why did the _Punisher_ _have_ to choose her ship to fire on? What about the _Liberty_, or the _Denat_, or the Frigate _Redemption_, or any other ship. Why the _Defiance_, damn it, WHY?

She was so lovely, everything about her—

R2 squealed and tweedled in alarm.

Justin snapped out of his thoughts for a moment. "R2, shut—ah, shit!" He finally saw the debris he was about to crash into, and yanked the stick to starboard, moving out the way and missing the collision by inches. The rest of the _Defiance_'s debris vanished to port as he pulled away from it and got to the battle from a distance. Cruisers and Star Destroyers were moving and shooting, creating a deadly dance of good and evil. Or at least that's how Justin's heart perceived it...

It beat harder and faster, almost in rhythm with the explosions happening all around the battle arena, a steady drum beat that added to the dance. All the rage built up in him. He wanted to crush them all, all the ships, all the fighters, the _Punisher_—everything!

He couldn't fight like this. No way. His mind would somehow finds its way back to Sam's death; it already was. Justin veered the Y-Wings nose so that it paralleled the debris field, then put it on full throttle, looking away from the debris of the wrecked _Defiance_. He put the jump coordinates into his computer, and R2 confirmed them cautiously. A few seconds later, Justin's Y-Wing vanished into hyperspace, and he was finally able to heave forward and let out all the tears he had blinking back and sucking in.


	36. Tale 6: Chapter One Part 4

Bryan watched with sad eyes as Justin's Y-Wing made the jump to hyperspace. His heart went out to his friend. He didn't deserve to lose his wife; not like that. _Goddam the Empire_. His eyes shifted to the _Defiance_'s debris, floating away from the center where the Cruiser had once stood. Instantly, an image of the bridge exploding around Sam shoved itself into his mind, and his felt his heart sicken, so he immediately tried to get rid of the image. What a way to die though...Bryan swallowed and turned his ship away from the debris. _She's dead. Deal with it, Rawling_. He put the debris to the right of him and turned his attention to the other Cruisers, who were still fighting to get to the exit corridor. The _Returion _was moving past him now, slowly towards the debris. Meanwhile, the second task force of Cruisers was moving into position to hold off the Imperials at "center stage," so to speak. Glancing around, Bryan soon spotted the _Liberty_ towards the middle of the line, taking fire from at least five different Star Destroyers, but so far standing its ground with the help of five other Cruisers and two dozen smaller support craft, not to mention a hive of Rebel starfighters.

A small alarm suddenly rang on the controls, and Bryan found himself being chased again. Sighing in frustration, he cut back the throttle and veered side-to-side as the TIE fired relentlessly at him. However, it underestimated his rate of de-acceleration, and forced to break off its pursuit to avoid a collision.

_Idiot_, Bryan thought and rolled to starboard, now on the TIE's tail. The Imperial fighter turned down towards the back end of the _Returion_, not skillfully at all. Bryan matched it and fired one quad burst, which incinerated the TIE. With a tired huff of air, he turned his X-Wing back on course towards the_ Liberty, _side-glancing at the other side of the battlefield at the Cruiser's fighting there. They, too, were running away towards their escape, being chased by the immense Super Star Destroyer _Titan_. Two of them, identified as the _Debari_ and the _Zexxon, _had their thrustors completely demolished and were now at the mercy of the _Titan_. Bryan acknowledged them with sad eyes and focused on the _Liberty_. And for once, he saw a promising sight. A Star Destroyer was finally being brought down viciously by the Alliance vessels. It's surface rippled with tiny explosions, and absolutely no guns were firing. Even better, all the shots and torpedoes that seemed to hit the _Liberty_ and her sister ships were sucked up by the shields, which remained in place.

His attention shifting from the HUD to the battle, Bryan scanned for possible targets, and found a TIE in a flight of four only two klicks away, and they were heading for the _Liberty_. Bryan dropped in behind them, and fried one a second later. He then quickly strafed another one, and send it limping away. The third and fourth broke apart, Bryan giving chase to the left one. Some time later, it became space dust, and Bryan moved on to another target; the area definitely had its many choices.

Three minutes later, as he watched the Transport _Kawaka_ explode, he fired and managed to destroy the Assault Gunboat he was chasing before the brightness overpowered his eyes. When it cleared, Bryan had to make sure to dodge all the debris flying at him while dodging TIE shots at the time. Snap-rolling to starboard, he caught a glimpse of the Cruiser _Defaera _jumping into hyperspace, along with five other smaller ships that were running like cowards away from the battle field. It slightly sickened Bryan, but he couldn't blame them. Small ships made easy targets for Star Destroyer's, and the will to survive was stronger than any other instinct Bryan knew. Still, it was pitiful to some extent.

The TIE chasing him accidently ran into a hunk of debris and was blown apart. Now clear of any enemies on his back, he swerved back around; his heart beating for a bigger target than a bunch of TIEs. And he found it: a small strike cruiser moving parallel to the Frigate _Haffit_. It was trading pot shots with the _Liberty_, being protected by one of the many Star Destroyers around it. Bryan banked towards it, hiding behind the bulk of the _Haffit_, then finally sneaking under the neck and bolting towards the strike cruiser—which was identified as the _Splinter_. He roasted one Interceptor on the trip over, and prepared to dumb-fire a torpedo at the cruiser's weakened left shield. Finally spotting his X-Wing, the _Splinter_ opened up its guns on the tiny starfighter, hitting him in the front shield with the first shot. But Bryan didn't go into evasive maneuvers, he simply moved the ship a quick touch to port, then another quick touch in the same direction, causing two more shots to miss him. He then swerved back to port, dodging more shots. Now at three klicks, he pulled the trigger and sent a lone torpedo heading at the cruiser. It was then that Bryan broke off, the cruiser's shots bending off behind his back shield. The torpedo sailed on peacefully, then created utter chaos as it pulverized the left shield and left that side of the hull vulnerable to laser fire. Bryan wasted no time, snap-rolling and charging back at the cruiser. He came it at a sharp angle, thrustors wining and shots missing. When he was in range, he glued his finger to the trigger and started raining down lasers. Itty-bitty pieces of the hull fractured and blew off with each hit, and a long black scar cascaded along Bryan's flight path.

The X-Wing shook as it was hit hard by a close range shot, and the shields dropped from forty-three percent to ten. Bryan jerked the stick from side-to-side; one more shot and he was sure to be in some trouble. He tipped his wings as he moved to port then back to starboard, and missed gunshots flew by on both sides. But he kept his finger on the trigger and his X-Wing on a relatively straight fly path until he finally veered off just before hitting the rear shield. He then banked a sharp left, closing his eyes and holding his breath as the angry cruiser spat fire at him. Eventually, the fire was far enough to dodge effectively, and his shields were slowly recharging again. Breathing easier, he circled around the _Haffit's _neck and came back on another pass as two proton torpedoes hit the damaged left hull, blowing craters into the scarred surface. Bryan sailed along the _Haffit_'s lasers' path and fired another one of his torpedoes, his second-to-last one. The torpedo dug a deeper hole into one of the craters, and caused an even bigger explosion that broke the ship into two halves.

"Nice job everyone," Bryan said, grinning to himself. "Nice shots."

"Copy lead."

"Copy–"

"–y, you too–"

"–ce run sir."

Bryan switched channels to talk to the _Liberty_. "_Liberty_, this is Commander Rawling. What's the ATA—_our_ ETA on the rest of the fleet?"

His question went unanswered, as static created by dozens of overlapping questions invaded the comlink's communications channel. A feeling of guilt at such an irrelevant question suddenly invaded his heart. _You idiot, why'd you ask that?_ _Stupid question to ask at a time like this_.

Bryan roasted an unsuspecting TIE Bomber, then banked to port, joining a flight of Alliance fighters forming a defense screen around the _Liberty_ and its sister Cruisers.

FIGHTER ON OUR SIX, Puck reported.

Bryan immediately veered to starboard. The Fighter didn't fire. Instead, it followed him, closing slightly. The X-Wing pulled up, then dipped at a forty-five degree angle back downward-port, rolling the whole way. The Fighter nearly missed the maneuver, but managed to recover quickly and remained on Bryan's tail. But it had fallen behind a little, leaving Bryan at an advantage. He directed his fighter at a close dogfight, and prepared to ask for some help. But then a string of green lasers from his chaser flew overhead, and if Bryan didn't veer, he would have been caught up in a storm of green. He dipped his fighter off to port, which he then figured was a stupid thing to do, considering that that put the Fighter closer to him. It fired another round at him, but the shots were eaten up by the shields. Huffing, Bryan decided to try banking the X-Wing at the TIE, hoping it wouldn't get behind him before he was finished. Much to his misfortune, that didn't happen. The Fighter got behind him and snapped off a few more pestering shots that ate up a chunk of his rear shield. Irritably looking back at his pursuer, he muttered, "This guy's gettin' annoying."

Puck let out a long squeal. FOR A REASON! INTERCEPTORS COMING IN AT M 544!

"Huh?" Bryan looked up out the left side, and saw a trio of TIE Interceptors closing in on him from above. He'd been tricked. "Oh, that bastard!" He exclaimed as he jammed the stick down. "He tricked us!" He swerved to barely miss a collision with an A-Wing. All the TIEs chasing him now opened fire, their fourteen guns all wanting a piece of his rear shield. But the maneuver he'd executed made them all miss the first time. They still gave chase though, all four in one clustered formation. Not wasting any time, Bryan pulled up and off to starboard, then veered left towards the Cruiser _Vealsca_, the outer most Cruiser that surrounded the _Liberty_. "I got four on me hot," he said urgently into the general com channel. "Neeeeeed some help here people." Again, the TIEs fired, and Bryan broke to port slightly, then back to starboard. At that point, he gave up basic evasive maneuvers and started moving the stick all around its holster. His ship moved in every direction, jolting and pitching in response. But the TIEs were relentless; though they were missing ninety-nine percent of their shots, they never stopped firing, and after a while, Bryan's hand was getting sore from jerking the damn joystick. He finally gave up and put his ship in a dive towards the _Liberty_'s surface. He glanced at his HUD after pulling out of it, hoping to see one of the TIEs explode on the shields. But none did. He raced past the _Liberty_'s bridge pod, momentarily spotting the crew at their posts, with Emilie's small silhouette sitting in the middle chair. Bryan found he had a sudden yearning to be in his room on the _Faith_, realizing a second later that the _Faith_ was now gone, and soon enough he was forcing the images of the dead out of his mind again. _Not now._

A laser suddenly collided with the _Liberty_'s shields, causing a small explosion right in front of Bryan's X-Wing.

"Ah—sh—shit!" He instinctively shielded his eyes and flew straight through the explosion, which knocked all his shields down to forty-seven percent. As he cleared the explosion, an idea suddenly popped into his mind, and he started for the starboard side of the Cruiser. "Follow me boys." He hugged the shields all the way around the hull. Pushing the stick forward with all of his strength, he ducked his starfighter under the hull, hugging as much of the bottom hull as he could, upside down. Once he was out of sight, he quickly cut power to the throttle and pushed the repulsor lifts to maximum. Both ends of the fighter went in opposite directions, and the craft flipped right side up, facing the direction it had just come from. And Bryan fired several lasers. The TIEs came down early, but one Interceptor got hit by the lasers and broke apart. The other three didn't realize where Bryan was, and he fried another Interceptor as it was pulling up. The remaining two TIEs fired off pot shots before breaking into evasive maneuvers. Bryan, his heart beating with excitement, decided to chase his original follower. "Ha ha!" he laughed loudly. "You're not the only one who knows how to trick people, my friend. MMM!" he grunted as he spat lasers, which sheared the wings off of the Fighter and sent the ball cockpit corkscrewing wildly out of control. Tipping his wings, he doubled back in the direction of the final Interceptor, and found it coming at him head-on. It got four shots off before Bryan destroyed it. But those shots did damage. Shields were down to nine percent and there was a red light on the upper left stabilizer. Power cable was ruptured: the upper left laser cannon was offline. "Damn. Don't worry about that Puck. There's no way you'll be able to concentrate in this mess," Bryan commented, his eyes passively circling the battle. "I'm surprised I can even a little."

Now that he was free again, Bryan opened the com for any distress calls, quickly flashing a glance at the _Punisher_ updates. Two more minutes...

"He's right on my tail!"

Bryan heard Kate's voice cut through the static. _I owe her one anyway_. "Puck, find Red Thirty-two, please." Puck began the search as Bryan targeted and blasted an Assault Gunboat. At last, the droid tweedled his response.

FOUND IT. M POINT-OH-SEVEN COMING IN BEHIND THE _SAFARA_.

"Good. Thanks Puck." He pushed the throttle to maximum.

WELCOME.

The hull of the Cruiser _Falcon_ swooped above him. When it cleared, Kate's X-Wing appeared almost instantly in the vastness of open space. It was flying away from the _Safara_'s right wing, an Interceptor tailing, two klicks away and closing fast.

Bryan's finger itched next to the trigger. "Keep flying in the same direction Kate. I got this bastard." Looking up, a TIE Fighter flew by above him, and Bryan altered his course to chase it so that Kate's Interceptor wouldn't notice him approaching. A few seconds later, Kate's X-Wing flew by his starboard side as he inched inward towards her flight path. Then, in one quick maneuver, he snapped in front of the Interceptor and blasted it into a million pieces, most of which crashed into his already weakened shields. They went from the recharged twenty-three percent to five percent, and another red light appeared on the upper left stabilizer. It was the same thing as before, only now the rupture was greater and the wing itself had become bent. Bryan grimaced. "Ouch," he said for his X-Wing.

"Thanks, Bryan."

"No problem, Katie."

Puck made all sorts of noises and mechanical tones, and Bryan knew he was about to get chided. STOP DOING THAT!

"Sorry. I keep thinking this is a game simulation like the ones—" His eyes widened and he pulled up as a damaged Y-Wing spun out-of-control under his belly. "—WE HAD ON THE COMPUTER!" He looked out the canopy and watched the Y-Wing explode. "Phew. Poor guy. I wish those Cruisers' could move faster." He looked sadly out at the _Safara_. "Suppose I should blame the _Punisher_ though." Deciding to inspect the area around the _Safara_, Bryan glanced out the right side as he juiced the throttle back to full. He spotted an X-Wing running from a Fighter, and suddenly a feeling of recognition came over him. "Puck, is that Kate's fighter?" He glanced at the HUD and found Kate's fighter not behind him like it was a few seconds ago. "It is," he realized as Puck confirmed it.

IT IS. AND HER SHIELDS ARE FAILING.

Bryan altered course. _Already in trouble again_. Then, suddenly, an alarm rang in the cockpit. Bryan recognized it immediately. Playing _Star Wars_ games on his computer when he was a kid and eight years of flying an X-Wing had forced the sound into his memory. Instantly, he went into evasive maneuvers. "Shit, missile lock!" _Hang on Kate_. The movement caused the lock to break, but Bryan knew better than to believe that he was safe. A second later, the sound returned. Bryan pulled up, then left, but the sound remained, a single tone getting faster, faster than his heart was pounding. Suddenly, the sound became one long drone, and then an alert that sounded like the "red alert" alarms on _Star Trek. _"Oh God!" Bryan said in alert. If that missile hit, he was dead. No matter what. "Where's it coming from Puck?"

M POINT-OH-ELEVEN. CLOSING AT POINT-TWENTY KLICKS A SECOND.

That was in visual range for sure. Bryan look towards point-oh-eleven and saw the red silhouette of a concussion missile coming at him, closing fast, a TIE Bomber in the distance behind it. Slowly, the missile fell behind the faster X-Wing, still closing. When it was almost on top of the ship, Bryan dived as hard as he could, closed his eyes, and waited. When he opened them a moment later, the missile was falling ahead of him, having missed the X-Wing. Bryan pulled up and glued his finger to the trigger, trying hard to hit the warhead and detonate the missile. But he failed, and the missile flew under his visual range. Using his time wisely, Bryan accelerated as fast as he could towards the _Safara_. For a time, the missile warning alert cut off, but then resumed when the missile renewed its lock and gave chase.

ONE-AND-A-HALF KLICKS AND CLOSING, Puck reported.

Bryan glanced back behind him, seeing the red silhouette again.

Puck squealed again for the umpteenth time this battle. BRYAN!

Bryan turned around and saw he was about to crash into a damaged corvette. He quickly ducked under it, and gritted his teeth in guilt as the concussion missile slammed into the already marred Alliance corvette. "Sorry," he said quietly. Instantly, his mind went back to Kate. Where was she now? Was she all right? He searched space and found her ship running parallel to the _Safara_, the TIE still chasing her. Shields now charged to thirty percent, Bryan rocketed towards his friend, eyes locked like a crosshair on the TIE. "Hang on Kate, I'm comin' up behind him."

"Okay," came the nervous answer.

Bryan scanned her ship and found a lot of bad things. Her shield's were down to ten percent, and her sensors had been severely weakened. _Not in good shape._ _What am I talkin' about though? I'm not doin' much better._ He closed in slowly on the Fighter. It was shaking and swerving in response to Kate's own evasive patterns. So far, no extra hits had been scored on her. Bryan zeroed in, now one klick away. He snapped off some pot shots, but they all went wide of barely missed. The Fighter began its own minor evasive maneuvers, now aware that it had a chaser. But it still tailed Kate, hunting although it was being hunt_ed_.

It fired off another round, and this time it scored three hits as Kate accidently passed through the fire. Her X-Wing jolted once, sparks erupting on her upper right wing. The light was blinding for a split second.

Bryan shielded his eyes. "Ahh! No! Kate, it's Bryan, are you all right!" he cried out in desperation. Puck put her damage report on the HUD. Her fuel cell in the upper right wing had been torn open. Bryan's eyes widened in fear. "No! Kate move!" he shouted to her in the comlink. "Move now!" All he got was sparks through static.

However, the Fighter fired off two more shots before she could. One of them hit the fuel cell and ignited it. The right half of the X-Wing blew off fast. Bryan heard a grunt of pain from his old friend as her X-Wing created a fiery streak across space's cold domain. Scorching pieces of duranium melted off the main shell, and after only a few seconds, Kate's X-Wing had broken up into small chunks shooting like bullets in all directions.

Bryan gaped at the site, not knowing how to feel or what to do. After eight years of watching friends and wing mates dying, his body had developed a certain reaction that repeated itself with every sudden death of innocent lives. His heart flooded with a lukewarm rage, and his blood became as fiery as magma. Arching his eyebrows low, his black pupils lit up with all the fury of every loss, and he prepared to bring a hammer down on Kate's killer. He followed the Fighter. "Time to die you son-of-a-bitch!" he shouted. Letting out a deranged war cry, he buried a dozen lasers and more into the tiny TIE, making sure that there was nothing left of it when he finished. He was breathing hard, but he couldn't help it. If he could have died right then, he would have. _But I have a job to do. If I'm using that as an excuse, then so be it_. Blinking back tears, he searched for more distress signals—more people he could save. Remembering the _Punisher _all of a sudden, he took a moment, still blinking back tears, to glance at the _Punisher_ updates. And he looked just in time to see the readings spike and fall. His heart sank, having lost its fire, and his throat became dank and dry and his awaited the death toll again. Three beams came from the _Punisher_. One went behind Bryan's X-Wing, hitting the Cruiser _Rewendant_ on the opposite end of the battle field. A second beam hit the Cruiser _Vealsca_, a third colliding with the _Safara_, which was close to Bryan. Both were a part of the Cruisers guarding the _Liberty. _

Something was wrong though. There should have been four beams, but there were only three.

The Cruisers already suffered their damaged and exploded while the battle continued around them.

The fourth beam finally came a second later, heading for the same area as the _Safara _had once been

Bryan instantly feared that it would hit the _Liberty_, and it was on that path. "No!" he whispered fiercely. The beam entered the gap where the _Safara_ had been and Bryan knew the _Liberty_ was going down. But then, the beam struck something else in front of the _Liberty_—a corvette–the same corvette that the missile chasing Bryan had hit. Again, the Commander grimaced. "Sorry about that boys and girls," he said. His look became sober. _You'll be remembered I promise._

"We're almost there!" Maya Ranadon shouted across the damaged bridge from the navigation spot. "Two klicks away!"

"Oh thank God," Emilie said quietly. "ETA on the _Punisher_?"

"Two minutes, thirty seconds," Ilan replied.

Emile nervously licked her lips, and her foot began tapping the deck under her. She wanted to get out of here. "God, this is gonna be close. How many ships are still here?"

It seemed like forever before Ilan answered. "Nine Cruisers, three Frigates, and about two dozen smaller craft. You wanna know how many fighters are left?"

"How many?"

"Forty-two."

Emilie let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. "We can do this..." She took a moment to glance around the bridge. Since most of the Cruisers around the _Liberty_ had been destroyed in the _Punisher_'s last strike, the ship had taken several hard hits from Star Destroyers. Most of the systems were still functional though. One wouldn't know that though, considering all the damage that been done internally. From what she'd heard, the window in the Starlight Lounge had been blown out, the forward hangar bay was heavily damaged, and the bridge was falling apart. All around Emilie were fallen pieces of duranium from the walls and ceiling. Two or more unsealed pipes were leaking vincium energy into the air. The stuff wasn't toxic, but it smelled really bad. Emilie's head was starting to pound from sniffing the stuff up for the last two minutes.

Looking out the cracked window, Emilie spotted the Cruiser _Dalaman_ escape into hyperspace, quickly followed by two transports, two corvettes, and a gunship. By now, Emilie's "shift" plan had been all but abandoned, with individual starships running as fast as they could for the hole before the Imperials filled it up again. And that worried Emilie as she saw thehuge Super Star Destroyer _Titan _nearing the exit vector. Biting her lip, she briefly focused on two Frigates that had been close behind the _Dalaman_ as they made the jump out of the Deil Nine system. That made Emilie's spirits jump, but that lasted only for a second before she was reminded of much the Alliance had lost in this battle. And it was in the scars and craters that were blown into the left side of the Cruiser _Skywalker_. Several Star Destroyers and strike cruisers were attacking it at once, scoring hits easily on the large starship. The escape pods were already being launched. And as the _Skywalker_ slowly started to fall behind, Emilie gave the order to pick up as many escape pods as the tractor beams could reel in.

Then suddenly, the _Liberty_ shuddered violently. Emilie wanted to believe that another torpedo had hit her ship, but something in her mind told her she was wrong. "Another torpedo hit?"

"No ma'am," Ilan responded. "Eleven different tractor beams have locked onto us. We're slowing down!"

Emilie's eyes widened. "What? Can we—!"

"Other Cruisers reporting a lot of tractor beam locks on them too!" Tilleper interrupted. "Something tells us they don't want us to leave!"

Emilie's mind went into think-mode again. "All right. Maya, charge the engines to full but don't fire off the thrustors, we're going to make our run for the exit; Ilan, when I give the signal, rotate the shield harmonics as fast as you get them, don't tell the risks just do it! Tilleper, signal the other Cruisers to do the same! Hurry! ETA until _Punisher_!"

"One minute, thirty seconds!"

"Go Ilan! Maya!"

With that, the _Liberty_ kicked into action. The weak shields rotated fast, knocking off all eleven tractor beams one at a time. At the same time, the thrustors ignited and propelled the _Liberty_ faster and faster with every second. Below it, the Cruiser _Harvester _followed suite, clearing its own tractor beams and rocketing for the exit. Judging by the distance between the ships, the _Harvester _was going to make it before the _Liberty_.

Which was fine with Emilie.

All around her, other Cruisers did the same, all losing every one of their tractor beam locks. Up ahead, the first Cruiser to make it to the exit, the _Heeden_, disappeared into hyperspace along with two more corvettes.

Ilan laughed. "I think we took the Imperials by surprise. They're RACIN' to catch up to us."

Emilie afforded herself a small smile.

The last Frigate, _Redemption_, lurched into hyperspace.

"_Punisher_?"

"Fifty-nine seconds."

"We gonna make it Maya?" Emilie asked anxiously.

"I don't know. I'm going as fast as I can."

"It's all right. Do the best you can."

The Cruiser _Bentize_ jumped out next, followed by at least nine smaller ships.

Suddenly, a huge explosion shook the _Liberty_, stronger than a tractor beam lock but weaker than a torpedo. Emilie bit her lower lip. "Ilan, what was that?"

"Starfighter crash," came the answer after a moment.

The last of the smaller starships went into hyperspace.

Followed by the Cruiser _Zalkatan._

"Oh," Emilie said. "Was it one of ours?"

Ilan nodded slowly at his panel, then up at Emilie. "I think it was Commander Kano ma'am." His eyes reflected the sadness that started to grip Emilie's heart. Commander Brix Kano was the _Liberty_'s Commander. "Judging by the message...his fighter was damaged and he was trying to fly in and...he missed."

Emilie looked away from him and nodded in understanding. _I'm sorry Brix. Rest in peace_. Blinking back her tears and swallowing her sobs, Emilie glanced up out the bridge window; just in time to see the Cruiser _Binger_ make the jump. "_Punisher_?"

"Thirty-seven seconds."

Cruiser _Falcon_ disappeared.

Emilie started counting down.

_Thirty-four...thirty-three...thirty-two..._

Tapping her feet impatiently on the deck, the _Liberty_ shuddered again. Now _that_ was a torpedo.

"Shields down to twenty-seven percent."

"Almost there!" Maya exclaimed.

_Twenty-five...twenty-four...twenty-three...twenty-two..._

"Tell the fighters to get out of here," Emilie ordered.

"Aye, ma'am."

_Nineteen...eighteen..._

Cruiser _Harvester_'s thrusters lit up and jumped.

Only the _Liberty_ left now.

_Sixteen...fifteen...fourteen..._

Tiny lights streaked across space as several fighters make the jump to lightspeed ahead of the massive Cruiser.

_Twelve...elev— _

"We've got a problem!" Ilan shouted. "_Titan_'s almost about to block our escape!"

Emilie's heart sank. _Not now...eight..._

"Hang on!" Maya shouted and she executed a command.

The _Liberty_'s starboard side suddenly dipped low, tilting the entire Cruiser onto a northwest-southeast axis.

Emilie grabbed her armrests and hung on. "Maya!"

The Admiral didn't know it, but if Maya hadn't executed that maneuver, the _Liberty_'s right and left sides would have collided with the bows of the _Titan_ and another Star Destroyer. Instead, the tilted ship passed within meters of the bows and plowed straight through the space in between the wedge-shaped points. When the Cruiser cleared the gap—

_Two!...one!..._

—Maya flattened it out again and tapped in a two button command. She then looked up in anticipation.

"_Punisher_ firing!"

Outside the window, the white stars stretched like rubber bands and the _Liberty_ shot into hyperspace.

The bridge erupted into celebration as the _Liberty_ had finally escaped, alive and still in one piece.

Emilie laid her tired head back against the headrest and closed her eyes as the shouts continued all around her. Finally, when it all calmed down, she heard Maya ask:

"Yes Emilie?"

The Admiral opened her eyes and look across at her friend, who was smiling playfully in both her eyes and lips. Emilie grinned back. "Good flying Maya. That was...unbelievable."

"She ain't kiddin'—"

"Yeah—"

"Yeah, Maya!"

As the crew congratulated the _Liberty_'s pilot on a job well done, Emilie set her head back again and tried to rest. But she found that she couldn't. _It's over...it's over_, she kept repeating. But somewhere in the back of her mind, shoved off in a corner, was a sinking feeling...

...a feeling that told her that her troubles were just beginning.


	37. Tale 6: Chapter Two

5:34 P.M. Same day. Alliance Repair Depot 57: Sallop IV

Bryan rushed past the hundreds of people bustling along Landing Pad Seventeen's solid deck, the wind of Sallop IV blowing his long brown hair across his face. Shaking his head, he forced the stringy mop out of his eyes and continued scanning the landing pad, jumping up and down to get a better visual sweep. He still couldn't see her though...

Pushing his way through the thick mass of bodies, Bryan's mind started to get desperate, and it soon forgot everyone his body was bumping into. It taught him to dole out "excuse me"'s and "I'm sorry"'s as if they meant nothing, like a robot was saying them. He ducked under the cockpit of a parked Y-Wing, hoping, by chance, that it was Justin's. Coming out into the wind again, he shot a glance at the droid socket behind the cockpit, but saw no R2 unit sitting in it. Frowning in disappointment, he turned around and continued on.

Several minutes passed by, but there was still no sign of Maxie or her A-Wing anywhere. But he didn't give up. He knew she was here somewhere; the landing pads had been sorted into fighter areas based on what Cruiser you were—or had been—attached to, and Landing Pad Seventeen was where _Faith _pilots were allowed to land, along with pilots from four other Cruisers. And since there were very few _Faith_ pilots that had survived, it hadn't taken them all long to land. So where was she?

He bumped shoulders with a Ponadin pilot, who growled at him. But Bryan paid him no attention, just automatically apologized and started running at an A-Wing near the edge of the landing pad, an A-Wing he hadn't inspected yet. And he began to recognize it as he got closer and closer, the TIEs painted on the green surface catching his eye; it's how Maxie's fighter had looked in the docking bay shortly before launch. He pushed and shoved his way out of the main crowd, and ran towards the lone A-Wing. He hoped she hadn't already run off somewhere, and he was starting to think that was the case when he didn't anyone standing near the starfighter. But out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a human figure standing in a deep shadow created by the sun, right next to the port side thruster. The figure had its back to everything, and was leaning into the framework of the thruster, like a scared child.

Bryan pushed his hair out of his face and started for the figure. As he moved closer, he saw her hair waving in the wind, it's light blonde hue just brushing the cannon mount. He approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her, though at this point he assumed it wouldn't matter. "Maxie?" he said quietly, voice sucked up by a sudden burst of wind. He took two more steps forward. "Maxie?" he called louder. As the wind died down again, he heard her somewhat loud sobs against the hull of her ship, and his spirit sank a little deeper into the black hole that gripped his soul. "Maxie?" he projected, not shouting but calling softly.

She finally turned around, a bit startled. But then she locked eyes with him, and her shoulders sagged and relaxed. With miles of joy in her deep brown eyes, she sniffed and tried to speak. "Oh my God—you—you're here." She charged into him and hugged him fiercely. He hugged her back just as fiercely, closing his eyes in relief and joy at having one of his best friends in his arms again. He pressed the side of his head against hers and just held her as she wept into his shoulder. They maintained the embrace for several long moments before Maxie finally broke away and looked him in the eyes again. "I thought you were"—snuffle and swallow—"dead." Another swallow. "I–I didn't see your fighter land, and—and—" she wiped her eyes with her sleeve "I–I didn't _hear_ your voice on the–on the com and—I–I thought—"

"It's all right Maxie, I'm fine," Bryan reassured her with a small grin. "I'm here; I'm alive. Don't worry."

Maxie sucked in her lower lip and nodded heavily. "Okay."

Bryan smiled at her and she smiled back.

"You all right?" He asked.

She crossed her arms below her breasts and nodded heavily again. "Yeah." She sniffled again.

Bryan nodded his head, feeling somewhat awkward. "Good." He jerked his head to the crowd behind him. "Wanna go find some other people? Or do you wanna...maybe..." he shrugged, not able to think of anything.

The wind blew again.

"Sure," Maxie muttered as she pushed a lock of her hair from off her face.

"All right..." Bryan turned slowly and waited for her to fall in beside him before he started walking himself. His eyes once again began scanning the crowd for any recognizable faces. "I think I saw Kevin land," he told Maxie. "But I don' know about Evan yet..." "Mmhmm," Maxie responded quietly.

"Yeah, and Danny hasn't shown up yet either. Yurnold I'm pretty sure was killed..."

Maxie swallowed loudly and sniffled again. "And Dassa too."

He looked down at her sadly, and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "Come on, try and cheer up. I know its hard with what's just happened but...time heals all wounds. Just try and cheer up a little."

She just nodded.

They were now on the verge of the crowd, when suddenly a familiar voice rang out from somewhere. "Bryan! Bryan!"

Bryan perked his head up and searched wildly for whoever was calling his name. He finally spotted Danny Jefferies squeeze his way out of the crowd, clothes rippling in the wind.

"Danny!" Maxie ran to him and hugged him furiously, causing him to re-balance himself as he wrapped his arms around her.

Bryan speedily walked over to the young pilot, grinning happily. When he finally let go of Maxie, Bryan grabbed him and gave him a back-clapping hug real quickly. "Nice to see you alive, Mr. Jefferies."

"Same to you, Commander. Nice to see you." With a grin at Maxie, he added, "And you too Maxie." He gave her another hug, holding on longer this time.

"Have you seen anybody else?" Bryan asked after a moment.

Jefferies nodded curtly. "Yeah, I saw Evan up by the northern edge,—"

Maxie and Bryan exchanged glances of ease at the mention of Evan's name.

"—and Carmila just landed a minute ago near the center over there," he pointed to the center of the massive crowd.

"You sure it was Evan?" Bryan asked. "And not Kevin."

"Yeah," Jefferies reassured. "I asked him which one he was and he said Evan so..."

"I see," Bryan nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Anyone else?"

Jefferies shook his head. "Naw, man, not yet. How 'bout you two?"

Bryan gestured to Maxie. "Well I just found her, and I'm pretty sure I saw Kevin landing. I know a lot of people though, so I've run into a few others. Not very many from the _Faith_ though, as I'm sure you can guess." He looked soberly at Jefferies.

The black man just nodded in understanding. "Yes, sir."

There was a long pause before anyone spoke.

"How ya takin' it?" Bryan asked finally.

Jefferies looked down, then up, then shrugged. "Pretty well I guess. Didn't know that many people. Maxie, Kevin and Evan, you, and Dassa are the only people I really had as friends."

"What about Donar?" Bryan reminded him.

Jefferies grinned. "Yeah, forgot about him. He's alive."

"Oh, he is?"

"Yeah, I heard him on the comlink while I was landing."

"Great."

"Guys?" Maxie asked, eyes no longer watering.

"Yeah?" Bryan answered quickly.

"Can we try and find Kevin and Evan. I wanna give them a hug."

Bryan smiled sympathetically. "Sure. Where'd you say you saw Evan?"

Jefferies pointed somewhere over the crowd. "Northern edge near the hospital."

Bryan nodded. "Okay, let's head over there."

The three started out through the crowd as the wind picked up again. Bryan peered over the crowd, sometimes getting up on his tip-toes to do it, while Maxie's hopeful eyes searched at eye level for any sign of the twins. Danny just passively scanned the bodies passing him, his mind on something else. This had been his first major battle as a pilot, so there was no telling what was going through his mind right now. The dead, any of his friends, just wanting to get away from it all...who knew.

Bryan stopped for a moment and scanned the area ahead as best he could. "Which part of the northern edge, Danny?"

The young pilot snapped out of his trance and looked around for a moment, trying to remember. He pointed somewhere to the left. "That way, towards the entrance to the hospital."

Bryan's eyes scanned the large hospital from its top just below the clouds to its base, where it hit the landing pad. "All right..." he lead the way towards the large building. His pace quickened as he raced towards a damaged X-Wing sitting next a large B-Wing. He almost _knew_ that that was Evan's X-Wing. "Is that it?" he pointed.

"Thas it."

Bryan nodded in delight. "Good." He quickened his pace—only to run straight into the domed form of an astromech droid.

The droid tweedled an apology.

"Oh no," Bryan answered as he looked down. "My...fault." He stared up at the man that came behind the blue droid.

It was Justin, eyes red from crying, staring at him with a defeated expression and a tired body. And judging by the way his head was craned, Bryan could easily tell that he was holding back his real pain.

Bryan slid around the droid, grabbed his old friend by his right arm and thrust him into a hug. It wasn't a back-clapper, just a genuine hug between two men who had known each other for half their lives. He had been Justin's right-hand man ever since he'd met him in his senior year of high school. That had been the year in which Justin had met his wife, Samantha Halstead. And Bryan felt instilled with a certain pride at being one of the very few people who had known the two since they'd first been together. He had stood by through all the fights, all the crisis,' all the friction between the two. He had to endure Justin when Sam was away,—something he didn't mind at all—and endure all of Sam's insults when she was in a bad mood, only to be apologized to about a day later. But he minded none of this, and was proud of his two friends, in everything they had accomplished in a world where, nowadays, love was all but forgotten.

Bryan would miss her heavily too.

Justin hadn't deserved this—to have his wife ripped from out of his heart just like that.

It only made the storm in Bryan's eyes grow deeper.

He released from the hug, momentarily gazing back at Danny and Maxie. "Go find Evan, I'll meet you there in a minute." Turning back to Justin, he immediately asked. "How ya holdin' out?"

Justin just shrugged. "I'm...all right."

"You can cry if you want, buddy...it's all right. You loved her dearly."

He looked and nodded and swallowed. "I know."

Bryan let out a small laugh, somewhat embarrassed. "Of course you did, what the hell am I talking about, huh?"

Justin brightened ever so slightly. "Mmhmm."

Bryan nodded uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. Jokes weren't an option though, no matter if they brightened him slightly. Then, an idea quickly came to him. "Wanna come with me, Maxie, and Danny? We're uh, going to find a few friends of ours and...then...possibly go get a drink or something...just hang out until we're told what to do or something."

"Oh—"

"You wanna come?"

"Sure, man," he responded quietly.

"All right. Come on."

"Hold on a minute. R2?" he said to the droid.

The droid acknowledged.

"Go back to the ship and just...I dunno...find _some_thing to do please, all right?"

The droid acknowledged and rolled off on his three legs.

Smiling as they started walking, Bryan asked, "You named him R2?"

"Mmhmm."

"Hmm," Bryan said thoughtfully. He pointed towards Evan's X-Wing. "It's over there, that's his X-Wing."

They walked a short distance more in silence.

"It's windy," Bryan observed as he momentarily had to stop to regain his balance as a huge gust hit the landing pad. "Gotta love Sallop IV."

He finally spotted Maxie's hair whipping up in the wind, and started towards it. He saw her and Danny huddled around two other people near the fuselage of the X-Wing. Glancing in between their shoulders, he saw the bright-eyed face of Evan Silliger looking very saddened as he talked. Bryan and Justin walked up quietly to the group and waited patiently.

"—couldn't believe—"

Evan stopped upon seeing Bryan enter the circle around him and Kevin, who was standing next to him. He hugged Bryan for a few seconds. "Ya all right, man?"

"I'm fine. How 'bout you?"

"I'm all right, man, I'm all right." He stepped aside to let Kevin step up.

"You survived, man," Kevin said as they embraced. "Bryan Rawling...most bitchin pilot in the Rebel Alliance." He broke off and grinned. "Never had a doubt in my mind."

Bryan returned his grin. "Really?" He chuckled. "I thought you were the most bitchin pilot in the Alliance?"

"Naw. That was—that was Evan that said that. Didn't know what the hell he was talkin' about."

"How you two holdin' out?" Bryan asked again to them.

"Pretty good—"

"We're all right—"

"Good. Ya find anybody else we know?"

They both shook their heads sadly.

"Naw—"

"Unh-uh—"

"Hmm." He stepped back. "By the way, guys, in case you don't remember him, this is Justin Berislo. He's...a...pilot from the _Defiance_."

Kevin and Evan shook hands with him.

"—How are ya?"

"—How ya doin' sir?"

"I'm all right." Justin answered.

Maxie and Danny shook hands with him next.

And then they all just stood there, saying nothing to one another, no one knowing _what_ to say.

It was Danny who finally broke the silence. "What should we do now?"

"Anyone up for a drink if we can find a...bar or something around here?" Bryan immediately suggested.

"—All right."

"—Sure."

"—Okay."

"Cool." He started for the entrance doors to the hospital, leading the way.

The bar they chose was the biggest along the spiraling Salvo Lane. The Lane was the most unique thing any of them had ever seen. It started at the top of the multi-leveled Tesas City and spiraled down the side of it's box-like structure. At each side of the spiral was a bar or restaurant, and the amazing pattern continued all the way down to the ground level. Each side of the city had several of these spiraling lanes, each with its own theme. So far, they'd walked by a shopping lane, a hardware lane, a theater lane which Bryan had stopped in front of for a minute to observe, and now this lane, the final one along the right side of the city-block, dedicated to food and drink.

The bar they now stood in front of was called _Julek'ret Famanic Pust_. And, of course, no one knew what that meant. All they was that it was the biggest bar on the Lane, and still had plenty of seats open. The _Pust_ itself was amazingly built. The bar area was multi-leveled like the city, with four floors that cascaded up the far wall, guard rails blocking the edges of each walkway and stairs bounding up on both sides of the levels. Far left from the entrance was a small entertainment stage, empty at the moment and pitch black. In the center area were dozens of tables and black chairs with very few people sitting in them. Luckily, most of the crowd hadn't left the landing pads yet and most of the Sallopians were at work. The place also reminded the pilots of the Starlight Lounge, because of the blue color that was on almost everything; the carpet was blue, and the lighting was a dim sky-blue. And on the far right was a large observation window, like the Lounge's, that looked out on a spectacular view of the wilderness that surrounded Tesas City.

Bryan led the way up to the first level of the bar, and they waited until the Sallopian bartender walked over.

He asked him something in the native language, which went straight over _everybody_'s head.

Bryan turned backed to his friends. "Anybody got a UT on 'em?"

They all shook heads at him.

So he looked back at the bartender. Scratching the back of his neck nervously, he said: "Umm, do you have like a...a universal trans—"he arranged his index fingers and thumbs into a box shape"—lator."

The Sallopian put a finger up, then ducked under the bar for a moment. He brought up a small circular device, which he switched on. Bryan assumed it was universal translator. He asked something in the Sallopian language, which Bryan assumed to be something like "Language?" or "What do you speak?"

Bryan leaned over the UT. "Basic; English."

The device made a noise, and the Sallopian nodded to Bryan.

"Can you understand me?" Bryan asked.

After a moment, he got a "Yes."

"Okay, do you have a Fedrellon Glazer?"

The Sallopian nodded.

"Okay. No liquor though, please." Bryan stepped aside and let Maxie go up.

"Hinnin _Saldurt_ Twister please."

As the rest ordered their drinks, Bryan just bounced on his heels until he caught the eye of a Sallopian sitting next to where he was standing. He exchanged nods with him.

The man eyed him strangely. "Er ou un avv those pilas from tha—from tha Erebellion up therr?" he asked in a scratchy voice, pointing towards the landing pads.

Outside, the wind howled against the window and rattled the ribbons hanging from the arch.

"Yes, I am. We all are. Just got back from a...very interesting attack."

The Sallopian nodded understandingly. "Av eard. Ou ere awmbushd." He pointed up to a monitor hanging from the ceiling. It showed a picture of a Bingin anchorwoman sitting against a background that said CivilianNet News; meanwhile, on her right hand side was an motion image showing a snippet from the Battle of Deil Nine—where the Alliance had just retreated from. All the image played was the _Punisher_ destroying a quartet of Cruisers. Once the Cruisers were destroyed, the image rewound back to the beginning instantly, and played again as the Bingin talked..

Bryan's nod confirmed what the Sallopian man had said. "Yes." He looked away from the monitor.

"Ah tragidy. Um shawry," the man said, smiling sympathetically.

Bryan smiled back. "Thank you very much, sir."

The man nodded and turned back to his drink.

By now, the rest of them had already ordered, and after they had all paid, Maxie led the way to finding a table at the center floor. Soon enough, they were seated, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the bar. For a while, no one said anything, but sat and sipped their drinks.

More people eventually flooded into the bars, most of them pilots and personnel from the brutalized Alliance Shift One fleet. The group already seated got up numerous times over the next hour-and-a-half to give hugs and say "hi" to those alive and those thought to be dead.

By the time seven PM had come around, Maxie was completely wasted and possibly in another reality; after his third drink, Danny was feeling a bit tipsy; Justin was slowly sipping down his second drink, eyes staring out of reality at the steel top of the table; Kevin and Evan were close to Maxie's level of drunkenness, only they still had partial good judgement; and Bryan, with his fourth non-alcoholic Fedrellon Glazer, was left with a huge sugar-high running through his blood, staring nervously at his friends around him, as they remained deathly silent.

Since they had first sat down, four more people had joined their table: Lieutenant Third Dartel Polzsar, one of Justin's friends from the _Defiance_'s pilot corps.; Commander Molly Raoin, Bryan's first student and rated the second best pilot in the Alliance, behind only her teacher. She had been Shift Two's Commander but Shift Two never went into battle; Cadet Kilad Caeshar, who had been transferred off the _Faith_ a month before; Maya had joined in, and added on to Bryan's discomfort at being around the woman who had turned him in to the Empire two years ago; and finally, Chris Braves, one of Danny's old friends from his home planet Beru, who he hadn't known had joined the Alliance.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat for the third time this minute, Bryan decided he needed to get up and get out of the cramped chair. He could feel his muscles craving to stretch. "Excuse me for a minute boys and girls," he muttered, scooting his chair back and standing. Out of the whole group, Justin, Molly, and Danny were the only ones who acknowledged him. Keeping his glass, he stretched and then started for the entrance, desiring some fresh air for his lungs. The tables in the bar were now full, all of them occupied with Alliance people. He waved to people he knew every now and then, surprised at how many different people he knew in the Rebellion. He'd always considered himself to be the silent one in a group.

Stepping outside, he immediately breathed in the invigorating oxygen, glad that it wasn't the smoky, musty air inside the bar. Looking around, he couldn't help but admire the Sallopian's stunning architecture and city design. He was absolutely blown away by the street he was standing on right now, how it spiraled down the side of the city like—something out of a dream. Or Bryan's own imagination.

Thinking back to his childhood, Bryan was still shocked that he was able to remember everything from his imagination, everything it had created for him, all the characters, all the personalities, all the starships, all the governments...all the worlds; The United Alliance of Free Worlds and Civilizations; the bounty hunter, Maxine Deltair and the _Phantom_, the Galactic War, _Jack Talisand _Trading and Market Outpost, Commander Talon Page, pirate Aaron Irons, the Vathkil Empire, the Duglorin Marauders, the Licathans, and of course, he first original character Supreme Admiral Timothy Ganondry...

Smiling as the memories flooded into him, Bryan leaned against the entrance doorway and took a sip of his half-full Glazer. His imagination had been his favorite place when he was a child. He wasn't insane, he knew the things his mind created were far from real, but he still loved them all the same. It was a place where he could go anytime, anywhere, in reaction to any_thing_. Other people had friends they relied in, or family, or, in some cases, doctors. He knew of very few people who could rely on themselves for any kind of help. But that's what Bryan had taught himself to do. He had given up on relying on people to comfort him. That was all that stupid game's fault—

Lo and behold, as he was starting to get flustered at the thought of the Sammy game, one of the other people involved in it, Clara, came down the street.

_Literally,_ Bryan realized with a grin. He took another sip.

When he looked again, she had spotted him and was walking, somewhat quickly, over to where he was standing, coming to a halt in front of him. "Hey!" she said with some brightness.

"Hey. How are ya? Survived the battle I see."

"Yeah, but it was pretty bad though. I—" She stopped for a moment to think of how to say her next sentence. She lowered her voice a little and leaned in towards him. "I feel kinda guilty that I'm still alive. I had a lot of friends who..died up there."

Bryan nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know the feeling. I lost—"a sigh—"quite a few friends of mine too,—"

"Hmm–"

"—including a girl I hadn't seen in years. One of my Playhouse buddies."

She smiled wryly. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks. I'm sorry too, for anyone and everyone you lost."

The smiled brightened. "Thank you."

He returned the smile and took another sip. "So who you lookin' for; if you're lookin' for anyone that is, of course?"

"Umm," she looked past him for a moment, then continued, "I was seeing if I could find my friend Max."

Bryan looked up at the sky, thinking. "Max..."

"Forrester. Me and him are on the _Peace _together.

"Don't think I know him. Did he fly at any of the _Valiance_ Tours lately?"

"No."

"Hmm."

" I lost him in the landing pad crowds. They're ridiculous."

"Yeah, I know. I was at Landing Pad Seventeen—"he rolled his eyes and made a face"—it was so ridiculous."

Clara's let out a laugh. "Yeah. Kinda reminded me of the hallways at Heights. All cramped and narrow."

"Eah," Bryan said out of the corner of his mouth. "Trying to _squeeze_ through the spaces between people..." he rolled his eyes again.

They exchanged a chuckle.

"Well if your looking for someone, I'll let ya go. Good luck."

"Thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

She walked into the bar.

At the same time that Molly walked out. "Well they're gone."

"You mean Maxie and all them?"

"Yeah."

"Haha. Yeah, they're whacky when they get a few drinks in their system." He stuck his thumb back into the bar. "But to see 'em like that, nearly out cold? Thas just plain weird."

Molly chuckled. "Yeah." She locked eyes with him. "I needed to get some air. Smoky air?" She stuck out her tongue and made a hacking noise.

Bryan chuckled.

Molly looked back inside, most likely staring at the people still at their table. "You should see this one guy I know on the _Renenguard. _Get's drunk practically every night. Ten suspensions, twenty-three reprimands, one attempted rape when he was drunk, and one week in the brig—all of his crimes were done while he was drunk." She smiled in amusement. "I thought I'd seen everything up until I saw all that."

"Are you serious? And he's still a pilot? They haven't, like—done anything about it? At all?"

Molly started laughing and answered, "No."

"Are you kidding me?"

Molly shook her head. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Probably because Captain Brane is a Fedrellon female and Tervin is a hunk."

Assuming Tervin was the drunkards name, Bryan continued to listen. "A hunk? Really."

"Yeah. He's cute, hot, and has a good sense of humor. And what kind of "devil" would take him away from all the girls in the pilot corps?"

"Ah, I see. Yeah, I wouldn't put that past any leader in the Alliance, whatsoever. They'll take anything, so long as it's a hot girl or guy offering it to them. Especially the Congress." He finished his Glazer and crossed his arms. "I've had a mind to do that to Maxie occasionally, though, throw her in the brig and stuff. She used to get drunk at least two nights a week. She even annoyed the _Faith_'s bartender, which is amazingly hard to do. However, when she _is_ drunk, she manages to control her drunk actions; she's nothing like your friend Tervin."

"Yeah...well don't get me wrong here," Molly said. "He's a good pilot. He just needs...a little more control." She copied Bryan and leaned against the other side of the entrance.

"I understand," Bryan responded.

"Hmm hmm," Molly laughed softly.

The wind suddenly whipped again, and all the hair on all the heads of everyone walking down Salvo Lane swirled and twirled.

"God, that's getting annoying," Bryan said. Looking across at Molly, his eyes gazed over at her right forearm. Hesitant, he started asking, "If I may ask, how's the uh...the...?" he swiped his index finger along the top of his arm.

"Oh, it's...still there," she said with a smile that Bryan could tell was forced. "Still dormant for now."

Bryan nodded and looked away slowly. "Hmm. That's good."

"Yeah..." She sighed heavily. "Okay, well, I had my drink. I'm gonna go back up to the landing pad and see if I can..." she shrugged, "help with anything." She stared over at him with tired eyes. Either that or she was squinting or some reason.

"All right. Have fun."

She stepped over to him. "And in case I don't see you again before you leave, nice to see you." She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him into a lose hug. "Alive I mean."

Bryan laughed. "Yes, of course. Nice to see you alive too."

She let go, smiled, and started heading back up Salvo Lane. "Bye."

"Bye."

As she got more distant up the road, Bryan couldn't do anything but watch her go. If this _was_ the last time he saw her, he wanted to make he saw her until she was out of sight. And he did, watching her back the whole way. Loosening his arms, he stared into his empty glass at the remaining droplets there. Then he shoved the glass's bottom up and tried to get at least one of those drops onto his tongue. As he did, his eyes shifted back to where he had last seen Molly before she went around the corner. _God help the Alliance if we lose her before this war is over_. He felt one of the droplets hit his tongue, and it refreshed it perfectly. Dropping the glass again, he swallowed the tiny droplet, then turned back into the bar.

9:32 PM Same day. North side of Tesas City

The wind was finally dying down, along with the huge Sallop sun, its golden rays splashing their warmth across Bryan's face. He basked in the warm rays for a few moments, eyes closed, heart beating normally, and all his nerves at peace for a time; the _first_ time since coming back from the battle. His hands calmly gripped the guard railing he was leaning against, his whole bodying slowly relaxing. When he opened his eyes again after a time, the sun was now a dimming ball against the gray clouds, and it cast a pink spell on the entire sky, weaving its rays in the clouds all along the horizon. Below it, the Tesas Sea was becoming shadowed in a beautiful black curtain created by the falling sun. Bryan couldn't help but be blown away by this marvelous sight. It was, by far, one of the prettiest thing he had ever seen. Even darkness seemed lovely on this planet. Stepping away from the guard rail, Bryan walked over to the placard laid out against the railing, explaining the historical significance of this lookout, called the Lur Dol Koren'ket. Bryan assumed Koren'ket meant "view" or something like that. The place had been suggested by the bartender at the _Pust_, the same one that had served him and his friends.

Bryan saw a picture of a chubby-faced Sallopian in the center of the placard, a woman named Lur Dasde'ra, Caraheta Dol. The Koren'ket was named after her. Not able to read any of the words on the placard, he moved on to another part of the Koren'ket.

This view, another breathtaking one, overlooked Tesas City; the whole thing. Bryan was very impressed and could easily see why Tesas City was rated the number one tourist attraction in the galaxy by the Empire. That was, of course, until it joined the Alliance. The city itself was arranged inside six rectangular sections of duranium metal that made up a protective outside shell nearly five-and-a-half kilometers high and one kilometer wide. Each section was connected directly to another; two East-West rods, two North-South rods. If one got a good aerial view of the city, it would look like a huge Tic-Tac-Toe board. And down each side were the spiraling streets like Salvo Lane. On the surface, massive skyscrapers grew tall and stretched across the landscape of the city. Almost every one of them had landing pads with all sorts of different car models and airships. The lanes of traffic cascaded upward like their friends the skyscrapers. The cars started out floating along the solid streets; the next road was about fifty meters above that, going perpendicular to the street; the next one was fifty meters above _that_ one, going in another direction. The night lights were already activated throughout the city; the inside of all the duranium shells were glowing with a brilliant, warm light. Already, the skyscraper lights and the streetlights combined to create an almost magical glow over the whole place...

Bryan shook his head in awe. This truly was a beautiful city. His ears became filled up with sounds: car horns; loud music from the bars; the fiery blast of ship's engines from ships taking off from the landing pads. It reminded him of Earth, only the cities were much smaller than this.

Walking along the path, he spotted someone else he knew. She was leaning against the railing, chin in her right hand, gazing out at the sight, eyes reflecting an immense sadness.

Bryan stepped towards her, as silently as he could, not wanting to disrupt the woman's serenity and calmness. There was still someone who needed a little comforting...

But his quiet approach didn't work.

Admiral Emilie Rodenski turned her head around to see who was coming. Upon seeing him, she smiled as sweet a smile as she could muster. "Hey," she said, almost whispering it.

He stepped up to the railing and leaned against it again, facing her. "Hey." A pause. "How ya doin'?"

She blinked once. "I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm all right. Enjoyin' this...truly beautiful city. I never knew something as distant as Sallop IV could be so lovely."

"Yeah, I know. I've been up here for a while now." She over at him, the sadness still in her eyes. "This view never get olds," she finished with a slight chuckle.

"Oh, I'm sure it doesn't. Not something as...beautiful as this."

Emilie managed to maintain her smile. "Mmhmm."

Bryan scanned her face curiously. "So, if I may ask, how are you _really_ holding up, Admiral, after that attack?"

She didn't answer him for a moment. "I'm—I'm holding out pretty good. Better than most." She grinned. "Or so I've seen."

"Hmm hmm," Bryan grinned. "It's not your fault, by the way, in case you were thinking that."

"Thanks...while that may hold up for you," she glanced at him again, "for everyone else..."

"Eh, what does everyone else know? They're not an Admiral. They don't know you, they don't know your job, they don't know nothin' about being you and doing what you do—what you do _best_, by the way."

"Aw thank you," she said. "You're the only one besides Maya to say that though."

"Oh well, it still means the same thing Emilie. It's _not_ your fault." He paused to think. "Intelligence—Alliance Intelligence—_got_ the information we used. They confirmed it, verified it—did all that wonderful stuff, then told us we could attack. So we did, the attack turned out bad, and here we are now." He shrugged. "Intelligence told us that the _Punisher_ wasn't finished. They were wrong. It's their fault."

Emilie stole a glance at him, then shrugged very lightly. "Mmhmm."

"Okay."

The weak wind blew again.

"Tell me," Bryan started. "Do you know exactly _how_ the _Punisher_ destroyed our ships? I mean, like, how it works, so that it can pick off multiple targets with that many superlasers? Was that ever explained at all, or...?"

"Ah, yeah," Emilie answered, looking down at thought. Turning so that she was facing him more, she continued. "It's kind of complicated though."

"All right. Shoot."

Sighing, Emilie swallowed then started. "Well, the _Punisher_ was designed to be a kind-of advanced form of the Death Star—"

Bryan snickered. "Leave it—"

"—so—"

"—to the Empire to come up with something better than the Death Star."

They both exchanged a laugh.

"Anyway, it was designed to better than the Death Star. And how it worked was this: it—well it—it was kind of like a virus. It took the energy that's—in the Cruisers and turns it into unstable nuclear energy."

Bryan's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? What's in the beams?"

"Um, I'm not sure. It's something like carbinin, I don't—I don't know. It's something that bonds to carbon-vincium though."

He snickered. "Well _that's_ anything."

Emilie burst into a laugh. "Yeah, I know—"

He laughed with her as he said, "That's why we _use_ vincium, because it bonds to just about anything. It can be converted to any form of energy."

"Yep, and that's why the _Punisher_ works. It converts vincium to unstable nuclear energy, and uses that to blow up the energy lines and destroy the Cruiser, creating the same destruction as the Death Star at one-fourth the power it takes."

Bryan smacked his lips. "Wwoww. Well it at least it can't destroy a planet, right?"

Emilie shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Good."

"Yes, good. Not like any_more_ people need to die," she said, the sadness reappearing.

"Hey, remember, it's not your fault."

She nodded pretty fast. "Mmhmm. We lost too many people in that fight."

"Yeah, I know. It sucks. I lost a lot of friends, and I'm sure you did too."

She just nodded.

"I heard Commander Kano didn't survive..."

She nodded again.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," she answered, hinting at a sob.

Hesitating, Bryan then asked, "Were you and him close at all?"

She nodded for the third time. "Mmhmm. Or...we were getting close."

"Mmm, I see. I know how you feel. I lost my girlfriend a few months ago. Imperial spy..."

"Yeah, you told me. Sorry."

"Thanks." A thought then passed through his mind rather quickly. "Tell me—and you don't have to answer this if you don't want to. I don't want to seem imposing. But..." He hesitated. "Have you found a replacement for—militarily of course—for Commander Kano? Yet?" _Wow, that was a stupid question Bryan_, he thought._ Second of the day. _He knew the answer before she even said it.

"No, I haven't."

"Oh, really, well I—"

"But I was kind of hoping you could do it."

Bryan stopped and blinked. "Hmm? Oh, um, well I'd—I'd love to but—I can't...really...um...well it's just that—that—well it's not that I don't want to—honestly it isn't—it's just that my Colonel, Maxie Linwood, has been waiting for_ever_ for a promotion...to Commander and—" he quickly thought for something to say. "Well, she's been a Colonel for a year-and-a-half now and...that's a really long time for a Colonel in the Alliance."

Emile grinned. "Bryan, the Alliance is only eight years old."

Bryan shrugged away the question. "Yeah, but still, it's a really long time. Most Colonel's are only Colonels for maybe...eight months at maximum, before they're promoted. Maxie's been my Colonel for a year-and-a-half now."

Emilie thought about this, nodding after a second.

"And she's more than qualified for the position."

She licked her lips. "No offense, but I'd prefer experience in this case."

"Aw, Emilie, she won't let you down, and if she does you can come hunt me down and kill me. But she's ready. By far."

"Okay. Well I'll think about it."

"All right. Please do." He sighed, a little tired. "Well, for now, you enjoy your wonderful view here and I will see you around. See you later." He walked past her towards the turbolift.

"Bye," she said.


	38. Tale 6: Chapter Two Part 2

One week later. 12:16 PM. _Pust_ bar; Salvo Lane; Tesas City.

"Take care of yourself man," Bryan said as he hugged Danny Jefferies. "Stay outta trouble. Might be difficult for you, but..." he said sarcastically.

"Shut up, sir," Jefferies said with a grin when they broke off.

They exchanged a laugh as Jefferies picked up his bag. He'd been reassigned to the Cruiser _Falcon_ yesterday, and the _Falcon _was on its way to another repair depot in the Tulas sector. It was leaving in half-an-hour.

"I'll see ya aroun,' Bryan," he said with a bright smile.

"See ya around, Danny."

Jefferies nodded curtly and started for the bar's entrance.

"Bye, man!" Bryan called.

"Bye!"

Bryan smiled, then calmly sat back down at the table, taking a sip of his Glazer. "I like him. You know?" he said to Kevin and Evan, the only other people sitting with him.

"Yeah, man," Evan answered. "Good man. Knows his shit pretty well."

"Helluva rapper too," Kevin added.

Evan grinned in agreement. "Yes, sir."

"You better believe it," Bryan said in accord. He'd been Jefferies's main teacher over the last year-and-a-half, and got to know the man pretty well. Originally, Bryan had been somewhat terrified of him, when his report came in as him being a severe trouble maker. But Bryan had soon learned that due to the Alliance's horrible archives, the report he'd gotten was a civilian record that had been written by an Imperial officer on Beru. Jefferies had been the leader of the Archale Uprising, which explained away the _entire_ report.

And now he was leaving, having been promoted to Lieutenant Third. Bryan couldn't help but feel proud for his friend, the type of pride a teacher got when he/she watched their students succeed. It was a lame feeling yes, but it felt very good. And since he still was recovering from the battle, any feeling that wasn't sad or tragic was a good feeling to have. Jefferies was amongst the many hundreds that had left Sallop IV already in the last week, having been reassigned or transferred to another starship, or had just left, like Molly had the day after she arrived.

Bryan looked over at the twins proudly and sadly at the same time. They had each been reassigned to a different ship; Kevin to the _Hindra_, Evan to the _Defender. _Both had gained ample experience aboard the _Faith, _and again, Bryan was filled to the brims with a huge pride, knowing full that he'd soon see those two men rising up in the ranks. They were still young yet, but they were extremely intelligent, though they chose to hide it most of the time. But Bryan didn't mind that. He did it too. So long as they got down to business when they had to...

_God, I'm gonna miss them too_, he thought with a drink of his Glazer. _Maxie too, wherever she goes. If she goes that is. Oh, what am I talking about. If she _doesn't_ get Commander on a Cruiser then I'm...I'm filing a complaint...or something_. His thoughts went straight to Emilie. _Please give her a job Emilie...please, please, please. _

"Bryan!" Kevin half-shouted.

The Commander snapped out of his thoughtful trance. "Huh, what?"

"Goddam, man, where do you go?" Kevin asked. "Everytime..."

Evan laughed.

"Whaddaya mean where do I go? I don't go anywhere. I was just thinking, that's all."

"Thinkin'? Abou' what?"

"Nothin' much really." He looked at both of them and then decided to be honest. "About how much I'm gonna miss my pilots...you know—Jefferies, you guys, Maxie..." His eyes found the twins faces again. "You think she's still being serious?" he asked, sounding upset and annoyed.

Evan looked down at the table, while Kevin just shrugged. "Prob-a-bly man," Kevin suggested. "I think she was really freaked out by that attack. Freaked out 'til the breakin' point."

"Yeah, I know, but..." He growled lightly. "It wasn't our fault—I mean, it's not her fault that so many people she knew died in the battle. I mean that was—that was just the Empire...killin' everybody. It—it's—it's not _her_ fault. I mean—" he sighed in irritation. "You know what I'm saying here right? It's just—"

"—Yeah—"

"—Yeah—"

"—that I—"

"—but Bryan thas not gonna stop her from quittin', man. I'd love for her to stay on too but...ya know."

Bryan gave up with another frustrated sigh. Quitting was another action that was rising in the numbers. So far,—after only a week—over 2500 people had "resigned"(a.k.a. quit!)from the Alliance. And the scary fact was that over a third of those were from people who _hadn't_ fought in the battle. Instead, that third was in amongst the other shifts which had sat waiting in suspense and praying that their comrades in shift one would make it out alive. Emilie had ordered the other three shifts to remain where they were and not intervene. Her reasoning was that more ships equaled more time, and therefore, more sacrificed lives: an accurate statement. He only hoped that it would hold up to the Alliance Congress' investigation and review.

As for Maxie, her reasoning for quitting was like everybody else's: fear. Not just of dying, but of losing more loved ones. Bryan still had the image of her crying face, circling around his memory like ghost that haunted his mind. It was hard for him to see her like this, what with being one of her best friends, one of her roommates, and her former flight teacher. He loved her as a friend(strictly as a friend, much to the dismay of gossipers who had been on board on the _Faith_), and hated to see her in a bad mood because she was always fun to be around when she was cheery and excited. Though ninety percent of her cheerfulness was usually from being drunk, she still always had a "happy" aura about her. At least that's how she was every time _he'd_ seen her. And she was a damn good pilot too.

Bryan's blood rushed, but he tried not to get angry. If she wanted to quit, then that was up to her, and he wouldn't stand in her way. He was only flustered because flying wouldn't be the same without her. Since he'd become used to her as his wingmate, he was definitely going to miss her flying next to him in formation. _Oh, Bryan, get over it_, he thought as he took a long sip. _You're thinking way too much about this. Besides, it's not like you'll see her next to you anyway. Even if she doesn't quit, she's likely to get a promotion somewhere, so she still won't be your wingmate_. He sighed roughly. "Why hasn't Emilie given me an answer yet?" he moaned to no one.

Kevin and Evan laughed.

"Whoa," Evan replied, leaning away from the table. "Calm down. It's not the end of the world, here, man."

"Jeez..." Kevin added. "Woo!"

Bryan couldn't help but laugh at himself. "Sorry guys. I'm just a little frustrated, that's all."

Evan cocked his head. "Hey, we understand. Fully, ya know? Nothin' wrong wit feelin' that way. I mean, ya know, we'll miss her too. An' you too, sir." He paused for a long moment. "All of ya."

"Same here for you, boys. Won't be the same. But so we're clear before you leave tommora'..." he leaned into the table. "You don't have to call me 'sir' right now. We're in a bar for Christ's sake. Call me 'sir' when we're in the air, so to speak. All right?"

They laughed.

"—yeah, yeah, all right, Bryan, all right—"

"—okay, okay—"

It was Bryan's turn to chuckle, and he drowned his soft laughter into his glass. It was refreshing and, for the moment, soothed his troubled mind. At least for a couple of moments. "Tell me, has she talked to you guys at all, though?" His eyes bounced back and forth from one twin to the other.

"Oh, no," Evan responded with a shake of his head.

"Uh-uh," Kevin said with a slight opening in his lips.

Evan snickered humorously. "You the only one she talks to anyway. About stuff like...emotional stuff, the good days, the bad days...any other days she might've had, problems...ya know, stuff like that." He snickered again. "She wouldn't talk to us abou' _anything_ serious. The last time she _did_ talk to us about anything serious was when we drank the last of the _kanganra_. Remember that?"

Bryan grinned at that memory. It was a year-and-a-half ago, on the night after he had promoted Maxie to Colonel. Garkuk Bos'leth, the bartender—who had been transported off the _Faith_ like all non-essential personnel had been for the Battle of Deil Nine—had thrown an all-night party for her in the Starlight Lounge. That was the night she asked Bryan her classic question: "Are red and blue the same color?" She had been so wasted that Bryan was afraid that someone was gonna try and take advantage of her. Though he trusted the guys on the _Faith_ with his life—mainly because sometimes he _had_ too—he would never trust barely any of them around a drunk woman. One of the night's funniest memories was when Kevin and Evan had downed the last of Bos'leth's most popular drink, the multi-liquored _kangrana soprome_, the Fedrellons' most intoxicating beverage export. When Maxie went up to the bar to get some—she hadn't had any yet—and found it to be all gone, she went back and cussed the twins out in a drunken rage that was one of the funniest things Bryan had ever seen because it reminded him of Act Three, Scene Two of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, when the lovers(Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena) had their fight. Every director he'd ever worked with always had the fight be reminiscent of old-style slapstick comedy, and that's exactly what had happened between Maxie and the twins. She tried to pick a fight with them, but was so out-of-it that all they could do were slow slaps that missed almost every time. The supposed "battle" circled their table four times without a single hit, knocked over five different chairs, spilled ten drinks, and finally ended when Bos'leth finally stopped Maxie from chasing the twins—in the middle of the performance stage in the Lounge. The three got that far. Bryan found these moments funny. Drunk people were so fun to watch from a sober point-of-view...but that wasn't a nice thing to think...but still. _I'm gonna miss her a lot_...

Realizing he was starting to zone out again, Bryan snapped out of his thoughts just in time to hear Kevin say:

"Hey, you know what I jus' realized?" He exchanged bright-eyed glances with his brother and Bryan. "This is gonna be the first time me and him'll be apart since we were born." He thought for a moment, then gazed at Bryan. "Basically."

Bryan raised his eyebrows. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted two alien figures approaching their table. "Really? Wow, that's...gonna be different I'm sure." He turned his head towards the figures coming at them, and immediately recognized the two of them: Lukath Federher, a female Bundan tech officer on the _Returion_, who had been introduced to Bryan two days ago by the man walking next to her, Vigel Benter, the thin Toski pilot who had been transferred off the _Faith_ to the _Returion,_ at the beginning of the present year.

Grinning wide, Vigel looked down at Kevin. He said something in his native language, which came out the UT at his belt as: "Is that so? Well boys, I give you my best hopes and I hope your masturbation segments will be as magical as they are—"he started breaking into laughter"—when your with each other." He finally broke into a laugh reminiscent of that to the Joker's in the movie _Batman_.

Kevin smacked his lips, grinning. "Shut the fuck up...buck-toothed, ugly-lookin' monkey."

Evan just shook his head and laughed.

Bryan grinned up at Vigel, then kicked out a chair. "Hey guys. Siddown. Have a drink. Talk with us."

Vigel held up a glass, something Bryan hadn't noticed he had had. Contained in it was a light green liquid which Bryan had never seen before and assumed that it was a drink from his home planet, Henial. "Already got my drink."

Bryan stared, wondering. "What is it?"

Vigel sat, not offering Lukath one first. "_Firkys gonz._"

"Hmm," Bryan said, not having a clue in the world what that was. "So how are you today?" he asked Lukath as she placed a seat at the table.

Lukath leaned her ear towards Vigel then shrugged and answered in her own language, which again was filtered through her Vigel's UT, but since his legs were now under the table, the translation came out muffled and not understandable.

Vigel reached down and snatched the UT from his belt. "Oh, sorry." He placed the box on the tabletop.

"Say it again," Bryan told Lukath, and his voice came out in the Bundan language.

Lukath leaned in again, then sat back up and responded with the same words. "I'm fine today," came the translation. "How are you?"

"Good," Bryan replied, taking a drink.

Nobody spoke for a while.

Vigel ending up breaking the silence, after he looked around the table and then the bar itself. "So where's Maxie?"

Bryan pointed his finger to the ceiling. "Probably still in her room, sleeping."

Vigel made a strange face and then glanced down at his watch.

"She likes to sleep," Bryan said quickly.

"It's past twelve-thirty—"

"—Especially now after the battle. She just lays up there and barely gets up sometimes." He shook his head. "And I don know what to do with her. Pretty bummed."

"Oh," Vigel said slowly. "I'm sorry. She lost some friends in that?"

"We all did," he answered simply, exchanging quick glances with everyone at the table. Another long silence ensued while everyone took a sip from their drinks.

And again, Vigel broke it. "Hey I know a way to cheer her up—Maxie." He pointed at Bryan and grinned. "You two get married yet?"

Bryan tossed his head back, rolled his eyes, and moaned. "For cryin' out loud, will you STOP that already! We are not getting married! For God's sake, wh–why–what–what is–what is the deal with this? Wha-why is this so...important to you?"

The twins flashed their teeth in amusing grins as they watched Bryan stutter and stumble.

"Because it should happen," Vigel asked.

"Why should it happen?"

"Whats...?" Lukath started, looking back and forth at the two men.

"Maxie Linwood, my Colonel, and I are close friends. Close to the point where we scare people. And for the longest time I can imagine here, everybody has told us that we act like a married couple. A few have even insisted that we _get_ married." Gesturing at Vigel, he continued, "And he's one of 'em. A _huge_ one of 'em. He still says we should be married even when we've made it very clear that that's never gonna happen. Yet he insists. So..." he sighed heavily and shook his head at him. "And I've had a girlfriend for the last five years so..." _Rosy..._

"So what? There's huge chemistry between you two."

"And there was even more chemistry between me and...my girlfriend, Vigel," Bryan defended with a little of irritation.

Across the table, the twins laughter had died quickly, and now they stared at Bryan with nervous tension.

"And I'd appreciate if you stop mentioning marriage around me, all right?" Bryan snapped. He didn't give the Toski a chance to respond. "Because Rosy died five months ago!" His eyes threw knives at Vigel, and the entire joke suddenly became one serious subject that Bryan didn't find very funny.

"Okay, okay!" Vigel said, backing off. "I was just kidding."

Bryan's hard expression didn't soften a bit. "I understand that, but it's not funny anymore, all right?"

"All right, all right! Sorry. I didn't know that Rosy had died and I'm sorry."

Finally, Bryan breathed. "It's all right. Just don' bring it up again please." He drank down the rest of his Glazer. After that, it took him all but two seconds to see the tension in everybody. The twins were nervously glancing around, seeing if anybody in the bar had noticed the scene. Lukath had leaned back in her chair and was exchanging glances with the twins every now and then. Inside, Bryan felt very awkward but angry at the same time. He didn't care though. Vigel just needed to learn where the line between funny and annoying was. By now, Bryan was fed up with the "couples" joke.

"Bryan!"

Bryan slowly turned to find his caller. His eyes immediately found Maya Ranadon, her dark silhouette walking fast towards his table. _Oh great_, Bryan thought blandly. _Just what I need right now. Maya..._

"Yayes?" Bryan asked, low in energy to the point where he allowed his voice to turn to a southern accent.

Maya bounded up tp him. "Did you see the news today?" she asked urgently.

"No."

"They're blaming Emilie!"

_Uh-oh._ "For what?" Bryan asked suspiciously. _Oh, I bet I know_. "Not for the attack I hope?"

Maya nodded fast. "Yes, for the attack!"

Bryan turned his out, legs itching to stand up. "What! How much of the attack?"

"The entire thing! They—they say—"

"—are you kidding me?"

"—that she acted arrogantly during the battle and–and like—"

"—what? How the hell—?"

"—your kiddin' me—" Evan added.

"—what the hell—!" Kevin scowled.

Vigel and Lukath remained shocked and silent.

"—she could've lost the entire first shift and like—well it's just crazy. They're blaming her for everything!"

"'Acted arrogantly?'" Bryan repeated. He looked at Maya like she was crazy. "How did she act arrogantly? If anything, she acted with courage and–and valiancy. She–she–she–she _saved_ the fleet! How did–how did they come to this!"

Maya looked distraught, almost like Maxie had been last week. "I don't know. They said they looked at all the evidence and...I dunno, they just said it was her fault!"

Bryan was up the next instant. "Bastards!" he said through gritted teeth. "I _hate_ Congress!" He shoved past Maya. "This is ridiculous!" He stormed towards the entrance to the _Pust_. "Excuse me, guys!" He half-shouted to the four people still seated at the table. Trailing Maya, the furious man rushed out of the bar and into the day outside, as the wind howled around him.

1:46 PM Same day. _Husindad_ _Donish_; Calagog Street; Tesas City

Justin watched the monitor in astonishment. His jaw was slightly dropped, and his nails digging into the sides of his chair. At the back of his hearing, he heard the soft sound of humming coming from the bedroom.

On the screen was a pre-recorded scene of Admiral Emilie Rodenski standing in the front of the _Cor Lal_ hotel, the one she was staying in. She was being questioned by Sallopian and CivilianNet reporters alike. Her eyes were getting glazed and tired, and her shoulders had sunk to practically out of vision. When she spoke, half of her sentences came out in stutters and she paused often before answering a question. Previous questions had included things like "Is it true that you didn't call for help from any other Alliance vessels?" and "Admiral, what about the Intelligence? Are you sure you read it thoroughly before going into battle?" and "Admiral, was the Intelligence solid?" and other stupid questions. Near the top of the picture was a red-lettered sentence against the background of the CivilianNet web-like insignia. It said: ADMIRAL RODENSKI BLAMED FOR DISASTER AT DEIL NINE.

_This is ridiculous!_ Justin thought. _What did she do? She was fighting out there like all of us! _Staring at the woman's pretty brown eyes, he could do nothing but shake his head in astonishment. This woman was innocent. _Completely_ innocent. She was just an Admiral caught in an attack that had gone wrong. _It was Alliance Intelligence who fucked up, with their supposed "verified yesterday" information!_ What pissed Justin off the most was that Congress hadn't exactly said _why_ they were blaming her. _Probably because they need a scapegoat to take the blame off them, the blood-sucking son's of a bitches! _Justin turned the monitor off in fury.

This whole situation kept getting worse everyday. He'd barely be able to sleep for the last week. Sam not laying next to him was...unbearable. Nightmares of the _Defiance_'s bridge exploding all around her had plagued him for six consecutive nights. He was tired, weak, and depressed. Far more depressed than he wanted to be...

For the second time today, his eyes shifted over to the balcony, but the thought passed.

Now an innocent person was being blamed for something that wasn't her fault in the least sense! A warrior who had handled the out-of-control battle with impressive skill and patience. _Her ship was the last to leave for cryin' out loud! The _Liberty_ was almost destroyed by the _Punisher_! How can they do this to her!_ He bet Bryan was just as pissed off as he was right now somewhere. For good reason!

Just then, the room's elegant doorchime sounded. Justin got up out of his comfortable chair and paced towards the door, surprising to find a slight bounce in his step. Reaching the thin door, he called. "Who is it?"

Outside, R2 garbled and whistled.

Justin pressed his finger against the opener. The door parted to reveal R2—

—and a tall, green man standing behind him. It was a Fedrellon. A familiar Fedrellon.

"Bach!" Justin exclaimed in surprise. He stepped forward towards the man, clapped hands with him, then pulled him into a quick hug.

Lars Bachne, also known as "Bach," was a good Fedrellon; something that rarely occurred inside the species. Everything else about him was typical Fedrellon though: he was tall, green-skinned, and immensely muscular. His head was shaped like a huge egg, with long, cinnamon-hued hair that went all the way to just below his shoulders. The eyes were outlined with red iris' and large black pupils.

But the man had a heart almost as pure as Sam's...had been.

Bachne was Chief of the maintenance and repair crews on Service Station Thirty-seven, a dry dock that orbited the gas giant Olani. It was where the _Defiance_ had undergone it's long months of repair after Admiral Colvon's defensive. Both him and Sam had gotten to know the man very well in the five months they'd spent there. He had been very helpful in getting Sam back on her feet and out of her long depression spell. Justin had been infinitively thankful to the man for all he'd done to support his late wife.

"How aryu Justin?" Bachne asked, his English remarkably clear. And somewhat British-sounding.

"I'm good, man." He scanned the man up his entire body. "How've _you_ been? Um, Come on in." He stepped back from the door to let his old friend in. R2 followed, and then promptly rolled onto the balcony for some reason.

"I'm surprised to see you. What are you doing here?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Half of ma crew was called to help relieve the workers over at Curansti base," he said with a grin, stepping inside to let the door close. "They were overwhelmed by all those Cruiser's and Frigates and ships of yours. Never saw it comin'."

Justin's expression went neutral. "None of us did, Bach."

Bachne nodded in understanding. "Yes, I know. Somatha footage from tha battle was hard to watch. All those people that had to die...I couldt believe it." He tugged at the collar of his indigo shirt. "Sorry, it's a bit warm in heare. Must be tha planet, I think."

Justin snickered. "Yeah, this place is pretty windy." He turned his body towards the small kitchen. "Hey, you wan' something to drink? I can go grab ya something from the liquor cabinet."

"What do they have here?"

Justin stopped and thought. "Well, now that I think of it, not much. Just some _ferregrino_, which you might like, or I could get you a glass of Kagrin _starkin_ if you'd like?"

"Uh, I'll take the _starkin_ please, thank you."

"You got it," Justin answered as he started for the kitchen. "Have a seat and we'll talk." Quietly, he opened the liquor cabinet above the wide sink. Pulling out the _starkin_ first, he started pouring it then stopped after a second. "How much do you want!" He called to Bachne.

"Oh...abou' half a glaass. Already had one strong drink today."

"All right." He continued pouring the glass until it was half-empty, then put the _starkin_ back and grabbed the _ferregrino_. This particular bottle, _Dassmond ferregrino_, had a taste like cream, and much more soothing to the tongue than the bland taste of _starkin_. "So how did you get over here?" Justin in casual conversation as he poured his own glass.

"Hmm? Oh, ah, my ship."

"The _Casarla_ or the...whatever it's called."

"The _Kahsharha_."

Justin grimaced. "Sorry."

"Nou problem. But jus' don't tell them I'm here all right?"

"Uh-oh," Justin snickered, finally feeling a little more on the bright. "You snuck over here?" He put the _ferregrino _back in the cabinet.

"Yes, kind of snuck ou' in the middl' autha night. Kind of liyck aow you snuck out during tha' drill—tha emergency drill back at Station Thirty-seven. To be with–Sam," he finished with a little hesitation.

Justin eyed him somberly. _He knows_. The mention of her name made Justin's muscles tighten, and his expression sagged a bit as he walked out of the kitchen back into the living room. But he still tried to keep his smile. "Could we not talk about that?"

"About what? Houw you got there?" He smirked. "Or what you two dih when you gah there?"

Justin stopped before handing him his drink, hesitating in growing anger. He couldn't help but think: _Bastard._

He must have betrayed himself somehow, because he saw Bachne's smirk melt into pursed lips and the twinkle in his eye vanish. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Ium sorry. Bad zhoke."

The human finally handed the Fedrellon his drink. And when he did, Bachne grabbed onto the glass and didn't pull it to him. His red eyes looked up at Justin's for a few moments. "I herd what happined abou' tha _Defiance. _And Ium sorry." He pressed the glass to his lips and drank as Justin sat back down in his original chair.

_You better be for _that, Justin thought. "It's all right. Just...I don't think I'm ready for the jokes yet."

Bachne waved off the comment. "Ium sorry, Justin. That was wrung for me todo." He took another sip and stared. "How 'ave you been since Sam...?"

Justin didn't let him finish. "I've been all right. I mean, I could definitely feel better, but," he drank, "I've been told I'm taking it well."

"Good. Thas nice to her."

The door to the bedroom opened up then, and the thick, short body of Caldoran Sergeant Arex Chades stepped out into the living room; he was another pilot of the _Defiance_ that had survived. Beyond him was the dark bedroom that he had been meditating in for the last hour-and-a-half, humming what he had said was his family's bonding song. The man's thin hair was slicked almost all the way back, a result of the turban-like _oped_ hat he wore during the meditation. And now his walk made him look dignified; a jump up from the man who had walked into the bedroom slouching and trudging not long ago.

"Hey," Justin said to him. "This is Lars Bachne. He's visiting us from Olani."

"Well thas where I normully wurk. Right now I'm helping repair tha Cruisers that docked at Curansti bass."

Arex nodded curtly. Speaking his Caldoran language, it took a moment for the UT to translate. "Oh, that's nice. Hello."

"Hello. How did tha batle go for you?"

Arex hesitated, thinking. "Pretty well for the most part. I managed to pick off a lot of kills before it was over. Can't say the fleet did too well though; how do they look?"

Bachne sucked in air and flashed his eyebrows in concern. "Pretty bad, Ium sorry to say. I wish we could wurk a miracle and repaw thum ull, but I don't think thas gonna happin. Sum of thum are damushzed well beyond ah reach."

"Damn," Arex said with a frown. "Do you know if the Cruiser _Zalkatan_ was sent there? It isn't here and I'm trying to find it because my brother's on it and I haven't been able to get in touch with him."

Bachne sat back and thought. "Umm." He sighed. "You knuw what, I believe it is. Tha _Zalkatan_ you said?" He nodded, now looking positive. "Ium pretty sure that wus it."

Arex stood more taller now, somewhat relieved. "Good." He gazed over at Justin. "Now I know where to go."

Justin forced a smile. "Cool, man."

The Caldoran's big eyes sank slightly. "You don't mind if I go and visit him...?"

Justin closed his eyes and shook his head.

"...sometime tomorrow, maybe?" he finished.

"Not a problem man. Go see him. He's your brother, you should see him."

Arex smiled. "All right. Thanks, man."

"Again, not a problem."

Arex kept his smile as he walked into the kitchen.

Justin and Bachne exchanged glances, grinning at each other. They then both took a long drink out of their glasses.

"I'd say wed need more than a miracle to repair those 'hings," Bachne said.

"Hmm. Well, if anyone can perform miracles, its you Bach. You and your...boys made the _Defiance_ look...spectacular. Almost a perfect job. Looked like you just built a brand new one from nothing but scrap, ya know? And that ship had been...beaten the crap out of it."

Bachne grinned.

"I mean..." Justin could nothing but shake his head, picturing the ghostly-looking, practically derelict Cruiser _Defiance_ that had been towed into the dry dock and had been the center of attention on the primetime news networks, both planetary _and_ intergalactic. He forced the image of his distressed wife, crying as she watched her once glorious ship practically fall apart as it was towed inside docking cage Beta, out of his mind.

"I knuw," Bachne answered, remembering it himself. "But thas because we, basically, _did_ build a brand new one frum scrap, to tell you tha truth. It wus bad enough so I had too."

Justin couldn't help but smile, and he took another sip, now unable to keep the previous image out of his mind. "I don't remember Sam takin' it that well either." He exchanged a somber glance with Bachne. Then, finally, he let out his secret, one he had, so far, been able to keep under wraps. "I quit piloting. Submitted my resignation—two days ago."

Bachne raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You did? Why? Naught because of tha battle I hope?"

Justin fixed him with an iron stare. "But—yes, because of the battle. Bach, that was the worst thing I've ever gone through. I lost...my wife, a lot of my friends, um, but B—"

"Justin, quittng is nut gonna mak tha pain go away. Why are you doing this? You're a goo' pilot from what I've seen."

"Because—because I don't like flying anymore, but Bach—"

"Why don' you like it?"

"Bach, I'm gonna tell you why in a minute, but can you hold on please and let me finish?"

The Fedrellon blinked, then leaned back, his facial expression softening. "Sure. Sorry."

"That's all right. Now Bach, I said I was quitting _piloting. _I didn't say I was quitting the _All_iance, and I'm not. I'm gonna—"

"—oh—"

"—be a tactician somewhere. Already applied for it, so hopefully sometime soon."

From somewhere in the kitchen, Justin heard a couple sentences in a strange language before the UT kicked in. "Justin, that's still quitting something. What makes you think you won't quit being a tactician? I mean, when something goes wrong like a battle, or you lose another friend you love dearly? What then? Do you quit again?"

"No, I don't, Arex. But I don't think anything like this will happen again. I think I can stick with a tactician's job. Besides, I've always felt better when I'm _not_ in the air." _In other words, when I'm with Sam_.

More Caldoran language. "That's not a real excuse."

"Well no ones asking you, are they, Arex, so shut up," Justin snapped.

"Hey, can you be nice? I'm trying to help you."

Justin turned to look into the kitchen, and found Arex standing right out in the open at the entrance to it, staring out at Justin with a glare slowly creeping over his face, wide eyes becoming narrow and the eyebrows above them dropping low. "I'm being _nice_, Arex," he said, iron-staring him back. "Believe me."

The Caldoran's stare broke, and he rolled his eyes and went back to work in the kitchen. "Fine, Justin. Sorry I even bothered."

Justin brought his head around and drank again. Hearing the windows rattle, he flashed a long glance out at the balcony, first seeing R2, raised on his legs, looking out at the view. Judging by the sound he had heard, he knew it was the fierce winds acting up again. They were a dangerous force on this planet. "So," he said, looking back at Bach, "have you heard about Admiral Rodenski yet?"

"No. What about 'er? She's pretty."

Justin nodded in agreement. "That she is. But Congress is still blaming her for what went wrong at the battle of Deil Nine."

Bachne was practically dumbfounded. "What? Their blaming _her_ for that? What di' _she_ do wrong?"

"Well, they're saying she acted arrogantly and didn't care about anybody else but herself, and—"

"What! Their zhoking, right?"

"I wish, man, but that's what all the news networks are saying." He reached for the button to the monitor. "Let me show you."


	39. Tale 6: Chapter Two Part 3

8: 43 PM Same day.

The rapid beat of Nicholas's death ripped up Jori's mind. Torment gripped every facet of her fragile being. Her heart beat quickly, as fast as Nicholas's was failing. Breath came out stagnantly, chest heaving in and out in desperate anguish, while tears flooded her eyes and saliva invaded her mouth. Hands prying at the sides of the doctors huddled around her dying brother, she struggled furiously to see him—to see if he was still all right, still alive. The scales tipped inside her brain, dipping her into her fear and anger and unleashing the beast awaiting. Forcing the doctors aside, she caught a glimpse of Nicholas's face; eyes closed, mouth slightly open in a pale gape, body motionless. "Nicholas!" she shouted. She reached out for his open hand, grabbed it, and held on. "Nicholas!" She furiously shouted to him a phrase in Russian language.

The doctors, ready to administer another defibrillator shock, shouted at Jori and pushed her away from her brother. Jori fussed and screeched as she tried to put herself back into Nicholas's view. Screaming her lungs out, she pushed and shoved the doctors viciously. But from behind came another body, her brother Hans stepped forward, planted his feet into the floor, and wrapped his arms around his sister, lifting her up off the ground—

Jori yelled furiously in Russian, but Hans grip only tightened as he dragged his deranged sister away from her younger brother. "Nicholas!"

The doctors shocked him again.

"Nicholas!"

Hans grunted as her nails dug into arms, but he managed to pull her into the door jam, all while she continued screaming. He tried to calm her down but it was no use. Kicking, Hans feeling her nails breaking through his epidermis, the two bodies ran into the door, passing out it.

"Nicholas!" Russian flying out her panicked mouth, Hans moved her to the side and then shoved her against the nearest hard wall.

"Jori!—" he tried to sooth her, but to no avail.

Jori spat something back at him in anger and pain and tears.

Hans looked around as more people in the hospital started noticing the scene. He then tried to explain about how interfering with the doctors would not help Nicholas get better—

—and she interrupted him with her pleading again, attempting to break free of his grip.

But he was stronger than her, and kept her braced against the wall. Eyes starting to turn red, the tears welled up in his eyes as he explained to her that she wasn't the only one suffering right then. He was too. And he knew that she didn't want him to die, and that she loved him very much and that he loved her very much too, but there was nothing she could do for him now. It was up to the doctors now to try and save his life.

As he talked, Jori's rage melted into the tears that started streaming down her cheeks. Hans's words brought back the painful and unbearable memories of this week. Nicholas being severely injured during the Battle of Deil Nine while on the Frigate Redemption, him having to be hospitalized when he arrived; then finding out his heart had been punctured by shrapnel; going on life support; condition worsening over the week until now, as his heart failed in the room behind his sister right now.

Nicholas had been the littlest of the Fresdevor children. Jori had loved him more than anyone else, probably even more than Hans. She played games with him everyday, supporting him in everything he wanted to do, no matter if she liked it or not, stood by his side everytime he was sick, everytime he was depressed, came to all his trumpet concerts(every last one of them), fed him whenever he asked or looked like he was hungry, and she could go on forever. They were like twins...

And all she wanted to right now was to beat Hans into the ground, as his words stabbed like knives into her heart and through her soul, and made her wish even more that it could be her in that bed and not him. She wanted him to live no matter what the costs, even her own life. She was mentally ill, as the doctors had told her many years ago. Social anxiety disorder, schizophrenia, ADD, and occasional depression spells...she didn't deserve to live as much as her little brother did. She wasn't even listening to Hans anymore. Finally breaking into sobs, she pressed her head into Hans chest and cried outright, arms seizing him in a fierce hug. She felt his grip loosen and he wrapped her arms around her tightly, pressing his lips against her scalp and just holding his sister lovingly.

They stood there for a long time, in each others arms. The hospital eventually went back to its routine and ignored the two as they held their embrace.

Still cradling her, Hans peered into the widow of the hospital door, and saw the doctors dispersing slowly, except for one, who covered Nicholas's body in a white sheet. The heart monitor was already turned off, as was all the life support equipment. The tubes were unplugged. Nicholas was dead. Hans loosened his grip on his sister, and then let her go. He pointed her to inside the hospital room, and watched as his sister—

"Nicholas?"

—slowly went into the room and to the bedside of her dead brother. Hans again scanned the corridor he was still standing in, and did notice a few people still watching. Sighing, he looked at the floor and then walked into the room. Jori had uncovered Nicholas's upper body and was now cradling his head, crying passionately onto his face, body heaving, trying her best to speak a prayer for her departed brother through her heavy sobs. Hans looked at his sister sympathetically, blinking back his own tears. He found a place to sit on a window-sill a few feet away from the bed, and briefly heard the wind rush behind him. Sagging his body, Hans rubbed his face in his hands, and couldn't stop his sobs from finally coming.

To the Alliance Congressional Review Board

From Commander Bryan Rawling of the Alliance Cruiser_ Faith_

Dear Board Members,

I am writing to you in complaint for your harsh judgement on the behavior's and actions of High Admiral Emilie Rodenski during the Battle of Deil Nine. The charges against the Admiral are unjust and unfair and have come from evidence that is strictly circumstantial in origin, and bears no proof that the Admiral acted in violation of any Alliance protocols, laws, and/or military codes. The situation that was forced upon her complied with the actions she took. I strongly believe that no other Alliance military officer could have handled the chaotic situation in a more skillful, patient, and intelligent manner. I would hereby like to address all of the charges brought upon the Admiral with you.

Charge Number One: Violation of Alliance Military Code; Article One; Section One; Paragraph Two: "The second duty of every Alliance Admiral, no matter how severe a situation may be, is to the safety of his or hers crew. The safety of crew comes before the safety of the Admiral. If the Admiral commands more than one Alliance starship in a fleet, then the safety of the starships of the fleet come before the safety of the Admiral."

The Review Board suggests that Admiral Rodenski violated Article One of the Alliance Military Code in that she did not attempt to contact the other Alliance fleet shifts to call them into battle. As she had said, and as I personally agree, calling the other shifts in to help fend of the Imperial fleet would have only added more ships to the battle. The loss of life would have been higher than the original numbers. More starships would have been destroyed by the _Punisher_, and also the Imperial fleet. May I remind the Board that even with the two other battle shifts, the Imperials still would have outnumbered our fleet by nearly four-to-one.

Charge Number Two: Violation of Alliance Military Code; Article One; Section One; Paragraph One: "The second duty of every Alliance military officer is to the safety of his or hers fellow comrades in arms."

The Review Board suggests that Admiral Rodenski violated Article One of the Alliance Military Code in that she did not thoroughly review the report that Congress got from Alliance Intelligence and gave to her. The report on the current status of the _Punisher_ superweapon and the Imperial fleet that guarded it. The Board says that the Admiral ignored certain points of warning and caution given in the information, warning and caution that should have, the Board says, "instructed her to plan a different and more careful strategy that would not have involved large fleet operations and risk large numbers of lives." May I first say that any tactical plan against the _Punisher_ would involve large fleet operations, and, no matter what, large numbers of lives. The superweapon is capable of destroying ten starships at once, and is always guarded by a sufficient Imperial force who's mass numbers never drop below three hundred-and-fifty Star Destroyers, that which includes the Super Star Destroyer _Titan_. I ask the Board what alternative battle plan _they _would suggest against such a dominating force? The Intelligence that was gathered suggested that the _Punisher_ was incomplete, unoperational, and almost fully vulnerable to a carefully planned and executed attack, and I must remind the Board that the information was verified thirty-six hours before the attack was launched. That being beside the point, even if Admiral Rodenski did not carefully take into consideration the warnings implemented into the Intelligence report, she cannot be blamed for the disastrous turn because it was not her job to gather the Intelligence and she is not at fault for its misleading content.

Charge Number Three: Treason and insubordination of Alliance principles, policies and common sense codes.

The Review Board suggests that Admiral Rodenski acted in a treasonous matter when she refused to summon help after it was discovered that the _Punisher_ was indeed operational. Again, I must insist that her decision to stay and fight with the numbers she already had was the right choice. If I had been in the same situation, I would have made the same decision she did. More ships means more lives at stake. May I inquire: "common sense codes"? What common sense codes? The Alliance doesn't have any common sense codes. If the Board is referring to natural common sense, which I hope they are, then Admiral Rodenski made the right decision. After all, which makes more sense, running for the escape vector initially, or calling in more ships to fight and risking more lives?

In conclusion, I must say again that these charges brought against the Admiral are unjust and unfair, not only to her but all those who respect her. While I grieve in memory for the number of losses the Alliance sustained, I personally feel ashamed to be allied with people who would sink so low as to frame an innocent woman just to hide to the fact that Congress screwed up. This Alliance is supposed to be an organization of free people, who are not prosecuted for the Empire's murderous acts(it was the Empire who murdered all those people, not Admiral Rodenski!). I am fearing that this Alliance is headed down a dark path; it seems that we are becoming more and more like the Empire, politically, everyday. First, there was a proposition to build a superweapon like the _Punisher_, then there was the idea of donating one million rebs to the Crystal Star, and now Congress is trying to use an honorable Admiral as a scapegoat! What have we come to? What is next? Are we going to start conquering primitive civilizations? Where is Congress going to go next? If Admiral Emilie Rodenski is court-martialed, then I humbly offer my resignation from the Rebel Alliance. If you can survive without your best Admiral, then, surely, you can survive without your "best pilot," as I am called. My feeling is that this organization no longer functions as it should. The goodness I once saw in Congress and the executives is slowly being shunned for greed and corruption, the two main elements that are also present in the Imperial Senate.

The Deil Nine casualties are dying everyday in the hospitals. Husbands, wives, best friends, lovers; all have to watch the people they love give way to death. In the past twelve days, Admiral Rodenski has been at as many hospitals as she can, holding the hands of the ailing, and crying when another casualty passes away. She barely rests during the day. Where is Congress? Are they here on Sallop IV, watching over and praying on the sick and dying? No, they are a thousand light years away, afraid of showing their faces and trying to think of any excuse they can to take the blame off them.

Sincerely,

Bryan Andrew Rawling, Commander, Alliance Cruiser

_Faith_.

3:13 PM. Fifteen days after the Battle of Deil Nine. _Binnis Corlal _(hotel); Tesas City.

Bryan trudged through the doors to his room, feeling the weight of his legs and feet, and also the soreness in some of his thigh muscles. He'd been on his feet too much in the last two weeks. What with sight-seeing, pacing throughout all the hospitals, pacing in the hotel room, thinking of how to word his letter to the Review Board, and all the funerals that had been held for the dead. The count on those had gone well beyond being remembered. From what Bryan _could_, there had been hundreds of closed, individual funerals, a third of which he had attended in respect to the dead officers, and as a Commander in the Rebel Alliance who understood the value of life and mourned _all_ that had died in the ferocious battle.

And, of course, the big funeral that had been held two days after the disarrayed fleet arrived at Sallop IV. The memorial had been attended by people in the thousands; almost all of the Alliance personnel who had fought at Deil Nine, several thousand Sallopians, the political leaders of Tesas City which included the (mayor) and his (council), (the president) of Sallop IV had flown in quickly, and even a member of Alliance Congress, Cemel Sadar, who, ironically, was now the strongest protagonist against Emilie Rodesnki. According to what Bryan had heard, he was in line to be her judge at the trial, which made the Commander's(and probably the soon to be ex-Commander's)blood boil, having such an enemy on the bench. Sadar had called Emilie "an incompetent, dumb Admiral, the worst one I have ever seen," amongst other things...

But he was still too tired to get angry about that now. His only hope was that his letter would shed some light on the idiots and bastards that made up the Congress Review Board, not to even mention the Congress itself. Right now, all he wanted to see and feel was his bed under his weighty and tired body. Exhaling until his lips buzzed, Bryan sniffed in some air and then started slowly for the bedroom, eyes struggling to stay open at least for another minute or two. He yawned, then opened the door and let all the light from the living room shine it's slanted sunlight onto the dark bedroom.

The curtains to the window were closed, with the faint sunlight gently trying to shine through from the other side. The room was smaller than most bedrooms Bryan had ever slept in. It reminded him of the bunkrooms on the _Faith_ and other Cruisers; somewhat close-quartered. There were four beds sorted into two bunks, pushed against the wall. They were designed for Sallopian bodies, very long and a touch too soft for human comfort. In the middle was a narrow walking space that could comfortably fit three people in its width. At the opposite end, right in front of the window were two nightstands near the foot of the bed. And that was it; the dressers were outside the bedroom, an unusual style. Not exactly the most luxurious accommodations Bryan had seen before, but he liked it because it brought back the memory of the rooms on the _Faith_, which Bryan had considered his home.

Originally, the roommates had been him, Maxie, and the twins(like it had been on the _Faith_), but now the twins had left for their new posts, and one Radhin pilot from the Frigate _Jollow_, along with a Karlix security officer from the Cruiser _Dinamo_ had taken their beds in the room. Bryan didn't know where they were right now. From he'd seen of them, which hadn't been much in the last week, he guessed that they were drowning themselves in drinks at a couple of the bars on Salvo Lane. Again, at this point he didn't care.

The closed curtain gave Maxie's whereabouts away instantly. Looking down and right, he saw his dear friend hidden under a clump of thin bed covers, her head resting peacefully on a pillow, the only body part visible. The rest of her body was folded into a half-ball, taking up barely half of the bed. Her stomach rose and sank gently as she breathed almost silently.

Silently, Bryan thanked—anything or anyone he could—that she was alive and well and breathing. For an instant, the images of the many that were still hospitalized flashed in his mind, and Bryan suddenly became more tired and sad. He thought a quick prayer for the dead and dying too. Tongue slowly turning as dry as a desert, Bryan was about to go get some water from the kitchen. However, before he could leave, his eyes glanced at Maxie's face, and they saw, barely, two big brown eyes staring back at him. She was awake. He hoped it hadn't been him that had woken her. A tired smile crept onto to Bryan's lips. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she responded in a groggy morning voice. She remained tightly wound under the covers.

"No offense, Maxie, but you need to stop sleeping. You've been sleeping way too much."

She closed her eyes again, and, Bryan swore, she smiled ever so slightly. Moving her legs over towards the edge of the bed, she asked, eyes now open again, "How do you do that?"

At first, Bryan didn't know what the hell she was talking about. So he decided to tease her. "What, sleep?—"

She moaned.

"—Well, its really simple, ya see—"

"Noooo," she groaned loudly. "You dork."

"Hey," Bryan said defensively. "None a' that. Just tryin' to cheer ya up."

"I'm kidding Bryan."

"Yeah, I know. I was just messin' with ya." He finally walked out of the light, into the dim darkness of the bedroom, stopping at where Maxie's knees stuck out. She wasn't saying anything, eyes closed again. "How do I do what, by the way?"

She sniffed. "Act the way you do." She opened her eyes and look up at him. "It's like the battle didn't even phase you at all. You act so...normal and...unchanged and..." Her eyes probed his, searching for something else to say.

But she didn't need to. Bryan already knew what she meant. "I was phased," he answered. "Heavily. I just don't let it show."

She frowned in concern. "Mmm. Well, it's kinda weird." She swallowed. "I don't know, maybe I'm just crying to much."

Bryan nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets routinely. "Well, that's all right. It's all right to mourn. I just don't do it as frequently as some people."

"Oh," came the response.

Sighing, Bryan looked down at the floor. "Yeah, and that's because I still have something to fight for." He finally gave way to his tired legs, and sat down, rather abruptly, at Maxie's feet. His sudden drop caused the bed to shake, and Maxie groaned irritably. "Sorry," Bryan apologized. "I'm just really tired right now."

"Mmhmm. Wait." She turned her body so that her stomach and chest were facing the ceiling. "What do you mean?"

Bryan shrugged. "I still have something to fight for. The honor of the dead, the protection of the living. This war isn't over...despite what some quitters might think." He said that with a little more spite than he had intended, and immediately regretted his tone of voice.

Maxie must have heard the contempt, and made a noise that sounded like a disgruntled growl, in her throat. "Shut up. I haven't quit yet. I'm still thinking about it."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. That came out the wrong way. I didn't mean to be so...well, angry. Because I'm not. It's your choice. Take all the time you need to think about it." For some reason, he found himself staring at the opposite wall.

The bed sheets rustled as Maxie pushed herself up, slowly coming out of the covers until only her legs were still under them. As silence gripped the bedroom, she reached over to the nightstand behind her and glanced at the clock she had there. Upon seeing the time on it, she pulled herself more out, until only her feet were under the covers. "Oh my God. Maybe I _am_ sleeping way too much." She let go of the clock and turned her head back to Bryan, and a smile made its way onto her face.

Bryan returned the same smile, only his was still in tired-mode. "Well, we haven't seen much of you in the past two weeks, what with you being in here all the time. So, yeah, I guess you could say you've been sleeping way too much lately."

Maxie's expression went neutral again, and she let herself fall sideways, curling up her body into a smaller shape than before, onto her pillow. Again, she closed her eyes, resting. "I need it though."

Her friend raised an eyebrow at her, the darkness having shrouded her face so that he couldn't tell where here eyes were anymore. At that moment, the image of her as a Commander came back to him again, and would have gone straight to thinking about Emilie's trial until he stopped himself by asking Maxie a question. "Not to bring the whole quitting thing up again, but can I tell you something?" _Why haven't I told you this_ _yet?_

She took a long time before answering. "Sure."

_How should I say this? _He thought, trying to think of a way to start. _"Congratulations, you may get a Commander's job on the _Liberty_"..."Guess what, I got you a job on the _Liberty_"... _"I gotcha a job. On the _Liberty_. With Emilie Rodenski, _once_ she gets off the hook for her supposed crimes. She'll be your...ruler, as it were." He looked over at her with truly happy eyes, smiling in support, though it was still a tired smile.

He remained like this as she lifted her head from the very edge of the pillow to stare at him. "You got me a job?" From what he could see of her face, she looked very confused. "As what?"

Bryan snickered. "'As what?' he repeated. "Whaddaya mean 'as what?' A Commander, that's 'what.'"

"Oh," she said, disappointment sticking out like a sore thumb. She set her head back down. "Why?"

Bryan hesitated. "Well because I wanted you to have it, because you weren't thinking of quitting when I told Emilie about it. I told her you'd be a great Commander, a good asset; you had a—_have_ a good, thinking mind; you're creative, a powerful but friendly leader...ummm...a damn good pilot. Yes, you're experience with command is a bit lacking compared to other pilots, but I told her you had a—God, excuse me—_have _a lot of potential and drive and just..." he couldn't think of anything. Almost all of the things he'd listed he hadn't said to Emilie at all, but his strategy was to try and cheer Maxie up with compliments. He shrugged and continued, Maxie remaining silent. "It's the _Liberty_, I mean...the flagship of the fleet. Not a job that's open very much," Bryan finished with s slight(but tired) laugh.

"Aww, thanks. Why me, though? I'm still a Colonel."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. You're a good leader, and a good Colonel. I know that better than anybody. You'd make a fine Commander, a...a perfect match for Emilie on the _Liberty_."

"Hmm," she hummed as she lay her head back down again. "Thanks."

"Welcome." He yawned, then hesitated a couple of times before asking, "Are you gonna take it if you can?"

Maxie frowned, eyes closed. "_I_ don't know. Maybe. How about I decide whether or not I'm still in the Alliance? Let me do that first."

Bryan held his hands in surrender, though they only got to his waste before his strength began to bend. "All right, okay. Like I said, it's your choice. I'm only tryin to help. I mean..."

"I know. I'm just...tired."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell ya this sooner—I asked Emilie two weeks ago and she said she'd think about it—I just didn't want to put any more pressure on you because you seemed really sad, and already pressured, and out of it..." He stared at her sympathetically. "Sorry if that's what I'm doing now with telling you this."

"No, it's all right." She finally twisted her body around and sat up. "Maybe I'll stick around if I can get that job."

Bryan's expression brightened at that. "Please do."

"No promises though."

He nodded and yawned again, feeling almost overpowered by his exhaustion. "Understandable."

She noticed this and grinned at it. "I think you're the one that needs the sleep around here," she commented, changing the subject.

Bryan chuckled humorously. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' about resting here for a while." He watched her calmly sink into her left shoulder, and before he knew it, she was resting her weary head on his bony but apparently comfortable shoulder. "Just got back from another funeral. Guy who was...a tactician...on the _Maria_."

"Oh..."

"Good man from what I saw. Three medals...honorable mention by Admiral Harrison...gooooood guy."

"Mmhmm..."

He looked down at her from the corner of his eye. "Have you been to any of the individual ones yet?" _Or have you been up here the entire time_, he almost said next.

She shook her head as best she could. "No, not really. I went to Dassa's but that was it."

"Oh yeah. Hmm..."

She lifted her head up and then slouched her upper body, bracing herself on her knees.

Almost simultaneously, Bryan laid back, almost going flat until the back of his head reached the wall and propped up against it. He yawned big again and closed his eyes. They cheered to his tired head, relieved to be closed at last.

He lay there in peace for a while, resting, only feeling slightly uncomfortable by the position his body was in. A few seconds into his rest, he heard the covers rustle again, and then felt Maxie's soft hand press against his forehead. It warmed his forehead greatly, and for a moment Bryan thought he was running a fever. Opening his eyes, he didn't need to look up to see her thumb close above in his vision. "What?" he asked groggily.

She kept her hand there for a few seconds then took it off. The two locked eyes. "You looked a little hot," she answered. "Just showing some concern."

Bryan grinned playfully. "You? Showing concern? You're kidding, right Maxie?" He teased.

She turned her head sideways and stared at him like a hawk. Nothing came out of her mouth, she just glared at him.

_Shit. Wrong thing to say. God, you're bad at that Bryan_. "I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, rising from his laid back position, a jolt which awakened his body a little more.

"That wasn't funny at all," she spat wearily.

"I know I know—!" he sat urgently, scooting forward a little more.

"Especially—"

He now sat next to her, and started to massage her shoulders to try and sooth her and calm her down a bit.

"—after what happened," she finished, tone still sharp and spiteful. But she didn't shrug his hands off her shoulders. Apparently she liked it. "That's very mean."

"I know I know, and I'm sorry. I was just kidding. You're a very caring person and I appreciated your concern."

"Its not funny."

"I know Maxie—"

"You joke around too much," she said on-purposely.

Bryan's heart sank, feeling defeated, or maybe that was his exhaustion. "Sorry," was all he could say, just continuing to massage her shoulders.

"You know..." she started shaking her head. "You better not say anything like that when your on the stand. You're testifying, right?"

"At Emilie's trial? Yeah. And believe—"

"Well you better not say anything like 'her, showing concern? Oh, just kidding, your honor' or something like that."

Bryan spiked anger for a moment, but it died quickly. "I won't. I'm gonna go up there and tell 'em the truth, straight out. Everything—honorable girl—sorry, woman. I'm tired—very good Admiral, good leader, smart, always knows the battlefield pretty well...everything good I can say about her, I will."

"Yeah, well I read the letter you sent to that Congress Board people in the Net newsletter this morning—"

_So you did get up?_ He joked in his mind.

"—and its just you sounded...like...it sounded like you, honestly, didn't care that 216,000 people died...in the–in the battle, and—"

Bryan stopped massaging, frowning. "Excuse me?"

"—no, no!—and I know you–you _do_ care but—"

"—you're damn right I do—" Bryan mumbled, resuming the massage

"—I'm just saying in the _letter_ you sound all 'well she did this right and this right, and yes she sacrificed a thousand people'—or '216,000' people—'but at least she didn't break any protocols at all.' I mean, you know what I'm saying here, like—?"

"Hey! Do _you_ think this attack was her fault?"

"No, Bryan!" she exclaimed, her voice now returning to its original high tone. "I'm just saying that it sounds—mean, like you're trying to say that this is _all_ Congress's fault—"

Bryan pulled his hands down and glared at her, slowly starting to wake up again. "It _is_ all Congress's fault! Emilie had nothing to do with what went wrong. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, she's not to blame for what happened out there!"

Maxie huffed some air and turned to face him more. "I know, but..." her body sank as she tried to think of something.

"But what?"

"But...blaming Congress for everything isn't the right thing to do. It's just as bad as blaming Admiral Rodenski for everything. I think Congress can burn in hell; honestly, I do, but we still need them."

Bryan screwed up his face. _What?_ He knew the Alliance still needed them, but it still sounded strange after everything they had done so far as a governing body that he didn't approve of.

"Congress gets us support," Maxie continued. "All kinds of support; public support, financial support. They're our number one support people. They get the Alliance what it needs no matter what the cost."

_Therein lies the problem with them_, Bryan thought.

"The military isn't as strong. We can't stand up to the Empire as a whole and win. You and I both know that. We can't gain enough support from just our military."

_True_.

"We rely on Congress to get the support we need, to get planets to join our Alliance. That's what we _need_! And if Congress looks bad, so does the Alliance, and there goes our support. Bryan, if people listen to you,—and they might, you _are_ Commander of all the Alliance starfighters and you _were_ out there during that—they might look at Congress badly, and we could lose a helluva a lot of support because of you." She stared at him contently, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also trying to get her point across. "No offense, but be careful when you testify and when you show your support for Emilie—Admiral Rodenski. Tell the truth but don't attack Congress."

They were both wide awake now as they stared at each other, adrenaline pumping through Bryan's body, and Maxie breathing evenly. The sun had brightened some outside, casting a mightier glow behind the curtain, and brightly lighting up the floor near the open door.

Finally, it was Bryan that gave into her. He looked down at the sunlight on the floor and sighed deeply. Then, glancing back at her content face through the corner of his eye, he said "Ya see, that's why I want you to take that job on the _Liberty_. 'Cause you're smart. A good thinker."

They exchanged smiles.

Bryan continued. "So that's what you've _really_ been doing up here all this time, isn't it? Thinking about all that."

Maxie beamed and chuckled. "Yup. Everyday this week. Just sleepin' and thinkin.' You know me; like you said, I'm a thinker."

"But of course," Bryan responded in a French accent. Then, in his regular voice, he said: "And I won't attack Congress I promise, no matter how angry they make me."

"You better not. Remember, we need them; they get support."

"I know, I know. They just piss me off sometimes."

"Oh yeah. Like I said, they kin...burn in hell for all I care." She looked over at the curtain and yawned. "We just need them."

"Haha."

"So!" Maxie said with new energy. "You awake now?" She asked, then breaking into a laugh.

Bryan chuckled with her. "Yeah, I pretty much am by now. Good conversation we just had."

"Yeah." She got up and stretched her arms, her entire body stretching after. "Want me to make you something?" she offered.

Bryan blinked in total surprise. "Wait, what? Did you just offer to make me something?"

"Um, yeah."

"To eat?"

She finished her stretch and looked down at him subjectively. "Yeeeah."

He could nothing but stare at her, smiling with a mix of suspicion and humor.

"What, I'm just offering. Are you hungry? You want something?"

"Uh, suuuure," Bryan said vigilantly.

Maxie locked her eyes on him, seeming frozen, with a puzzled smile. "What?"

"Uhnothing, it's just...funny. You've never really offered to make me something before. We uuusually have to—me and the twins of course—beg and plead for you to just to...like...pass us a book or something sometimes."

Maxie shrugged. "Okay. Do you want me to or not?"

"Oh yes, sure, if you want."

She rolled her eyes and started out the door.

An idea popped into Bryan's head, and he leapt up from the bed as she passed him, holding up his index finger. "But I have to make something for yyyou, also."

Maxie stopped and stared. "_You're_ going to cook?"

He snickered in response. "No, just make food. It isn't that hard."

She grinned, then started laughing as she walked out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. Bryan followed, confused as to what she was laughing at. "What?"

"'No, just make food,'" she mocked. "That sounds strange coming out of you, Mr. King of the peanut-better-and-jelly-sandwiches."

He broke into a smile. "Hey, don't tease me—"

"—Dork."

"Hey!"


	40. Tale 6: Chapter Two Part 4

11:27 AM Nineteen days after the Battle of Deil Nine

Dear Mr. Berislo,

First, on behalf of all the members of the Office of Transfers, we humbly sympathize with you over the loss of your wife—

Justin rolled his eyes. He was tired of hearing sympathy's over Sam. They made him think of her everytime someone said one. Skimming over that part, he continued to read.

Second, we wish to announce to you that we have made our decision concerning your request to transfer out of the Pilot Corps. and into the field of Strategy. After reviewing your history in battle and other tactical situations, and your scores on the written and simulation sections of the Placement Test, we would like to congratulate you on successfully being accepted into the Alliance's Corps. Of Strategists and Tacticians. We have concluded that you possess the skills, instincts and knowledge of some of the Defense Force's finest young strategists, and will do well.

Your first assignment in your new position will be as the Second Major tactician aboard the Cruiser _Vaysil_.—

Justin eyes widened in surprise. _Second Major?_ He thought. _Holy shit! I did better on the Placement Test than I thought!_

—There, you will learn the remaining skills necessary to become a full Major tactician and, in time, take up the Major position aboard an Alliance Cruiser. Your tutor will be First Lieutenant Commander Dena Galvis, a top-rated expert in the field of Strategy. You will learn much from him.

We have kindly diverted a commercial transport to Sallop IV to pick you up and drop you off on the Cruiser _Vaysil_. It will arrive at Sallop IV at 033096-point–23. Please be prompt when it arrives, for it may be difficult to get another.

Congratulations again, Mr. Berislo! The Office of Transfers look forward to seeing you rise in the field of Strategy.

Sincerely,

Areun Peggas, Minister of the Office of Transfers; Alliance Defense Force.

Justin smiled wryly at Minister Peggas's signature on the message, wanting to feel excited, but thinking about how close he had come to reading the sympathy for Sam in the message, and how it brought back all the pain of Sam's death all over again. Slowly, his heart sank in a noose and remained locked there. Feeling the blood rush through his veins, he blew out some air and closed the message window, returning the computer terminal's monitor to it's main desktop. He then shut the terminal down, and immediately started for his room, wanting to get an early start on packing his things for the transport tomorrow. Truthfully, he wanted to ask if he could have some more time before he left, but he imagined that finding another transport after the _next_ one _would_ be difficult and he didn't feel like possibly arguing over the whole thing, especially not with the Office of Transfers. They'd had a history of never being dissuaded by anyone. He had sympathy points, yes, but he knew that would never be enough.

Outside, the Sallopian wind howled again. Justin reached up and scratched his neck, instantly eliminating the itch created by the delicate string of his necklace.

Out of the kitchen came a tall Trisalkan with dark red battle bruise on his left cheek, and fog-white hair just barely hitting the edge of his cheeks. Faddius Loken, a security officer aboard the corvette _Cassaman_, who had moved into the hotel room shortly after Arex had departed for Curansti base with Bach to find his brother. Once he and his brother had reunited, Arex stayed on Curansti.

By now, most people had either been reassigned, transferred, or had quit the Alliance. Sallop IV was slowly being emptied of all Alliance personnel. The only people that remained were people like Justin, who had requested transfers to different fields. Also, Commanders like Bryan, Captains, and just other people who hadn't been assigned anywhere yet. Two weeks ago there had been thousands of Alliance officers and personnel in Tesas City. Now only a few hundred remained.

"Hey Fad. How's the cooking going in there?"

Faddius smiled delightfully and spoke, the UT translating. "Great. I've practically had to beat my teeth with a stick to get them to stay away from the _coolig_." He laughed.

Justin forced on his own smile, then started for the bedroom. "That sounds great, sir. I got accepted by the Office of Transfers. Just sent me my acceptance letter."

Faddius's face lit up even more at that. "Good job! Congratulations. I'll bet your excited."

"Can't wait."

"That's great. What Cruiser?"

"The _Vaysil_."

Faddius nodded, trying to hide the fact that he didn't recognize the name at all. "That's nice. Good job."

"Thanks." He exchanged smiles with him. "But I gotta go pack. They said the transport for the _Vaysil_ leaves tomorrow, so I got to get ready now. Call me when dinner's ready. That pasta smells _really_ good. I'm lookin forward to eating it."

"Will do." Faddius started back for the kitchen.

Justin went to the dressers first, and opened the top drawer, revealing a bunch of Sallopian clothes donated to the Alliance. Almost all of them were a size too big or a size to small, but Justin was still very appreciative for them. And the shirts, pants, and g-string type underwear—those were _really_ uncomfortable. Justin ended up borrowing some undies from some of his friends on surviving Cruisers—that they had supplied, amongst other things like the accommodations they had provided. One of Justin's only regrets was that he couldn't repay the Sallopians for all they the kindness and consideration they had shown. Everything he had been treated to had been free. _That_ was the best thing they had done. Free meals, a free room, free comlink service, other free services a quick-set-up computer terminal, special discounts, a certain sum of free money, and the list went on a little further. The president, a woman named Wintra Hevvern had been in Tesas city for almost two weeks until he was done hosting several group dinners with all of the Alliance members present on the planet. These people deserved an immense compensation from the Alliance for everything they had done to make the outsiders feel at home and welcome.

Justin dug to the bottom of the drawer and pulled out his flight suit. Even though it had been washed once, it still reeked of his body sweat, which had sunk into it during the battle. Justin took one sniff and abruptly turned his nose away in agony. Quickly, he walked into the bedroom and set the dirty suit on his bed, then walked back out to the dresser. For some reason, he kept thinking he had a lot to pack, forgetting that what had been his was destroyed with the _Defiance. _Everything that been his...

He sensed himself slipping back to her again, and this time he welcomed it. She would want this new job for him. Pausing for a moment, he reached under his shirt and grabbed hold of the tiny disk at the end of his necklace. He sealed his palm around the disk gently, pulling it out, and closed his eyes, seeing her beautiful smiling face counteracting the blackness of his mind. The disk was made up of a crystal-like substance called _Dirlin_. Sam had fallen in love with it the moment she saw it on the planet Caresica, and Justin happily had bought it for her. Then, she surprised him on his birthday by getting _him_ one as well. It symbolized the deep love and deep connection between them. Sam had put it: "this way I'll always be with you and you always with me no matter where I am or where you are." Those words had burned themselves into his thoughts over and over again for the past three weeks, and they were returning to him now. He knew she would want him to be happy, and he found that he always felt happier when he wasn't flying. _This is for you, babe_. He held on for a few moments, then finally opened his eyes—and felt refreshment invading every part of his body. Pressing his lips against the disk, he calmly put it back un der shirt and went back to packing. As he did so, he remembered that he still had to call Bryan back again. The man still had to explain this whole Afgalan trip he wanted Justin to take with him on July 14th. Said it was a surprise, and if Justin knew Bryan well enough, which he did, then he knew that the "surprise" was going to be something unexpected. So Justin made a mental and continued packing, almost ready to step into the pages of the next chapter of his life.

1:55 PM Festin time; Twenty-seven days after the Battle of Deil Nine; Festin system; Cruiser _Saplan_

Captain Vaughn Carrack extended his hand out to Kenny. "It's been an honor, Commander," he said in his gruff voice.

"Tha—" Kenny started as they shook hands.

"—goos luck to you."

Kenny smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir. Same to you."

"You be sure to tell Captain Effairyou, or whatever his name is—"

Kenny laughed at the name attempt. His name was Captain _F'ter'yu_. _Captain Effairyou_...Kenny shook his head.

"—to make sure he calls me about when your feeding times are—"

He laughed again.

"–and when—"

"Thanks, Captain, but I think I can take care of myself, sir. Don't need a daddy anymore."

Carrack grinned.

"I'd like some money, though," Kenny said with sarcastic cheer, holding out his hand.

"No, sorry," Carrack replied. "I don't think I'm not nice. You'll have to survive without money. Sorry."

"Aww," Kenny faked disappointment. "Well it's all right," he assured him, picking up his bag. "I'll see you...out there I guess."

"Oh, sure. Space is big enough. My mother fits in it well enough anyway," he laughed.

Kenny chuckled and nodded in agreement. "I'll see ya around, sir."

They exchanged smiles one last time.

"Ciao," Kenny said, backing away.

"Ciao, Kenny."

He turned around and headed for the open ramp of the military transport waiting for him. Inside, he was as jittery as a grasshopper, excited to be returning to the _Dalaman_ and see all his old friends again. It had been his original post when he had first joined the Alliance, but he'd then been transferred, much to his sadness, to the _Saplan_ after only six months. He had made a lot of friends on the _Dalaman_ in his short time, and hadn't seen any of them since he'd left.

The _Dalaman_ had lost its Commander in the Battle of Deil Nine, and none had been assigned to it yet. Kenny had been the first one to call Captain F'ter'yu and the Office of Transfers. Now he was on the way back to his original post, as its new Commander, while Colonel Tor'al Pidek was promoted to Commander of the _Saplan_. Kenny felt a bursting pride upon hearing about that, but that was nothing compared to the excitement he felt about going back to the _Dalaman_ again. He couldn't wait.

10: 21 AM Curansti time; Thirty-two days after the Battle of Deil Nine; Curansti Repair Depot.

"She's free! She's free!" Max Forrester called, like a happy child, out the window. "Wohoo, yeah!" Outside the window of the depot's Starlight Lounge, the winged Cruiser _Dalaman _pushed itself out of Main Cage Four, its repairs all done. The mighty starship's propulsion was a spectacle in itself, a symbol of power who's size and grace could pull inspiration, drive, and excitement out of anyone's heart with its presence and glory. It made anyone who watched—and many did, now, inside the bar—proud to be an Alliance citizen. "Cruis-er!Cruis-er!Cruis-er!Crui—" Max kept shouting.

Clara let herself roll with laughter before she tried to stop him. "—Max!" She pressed her palm at him in a "stop" gesture. "Max, stop, okay. Calm down."

Max just smiled and went on, standing up now and pumping his fist, shouting obnoxiously, "Cruis-er!Cruis-er!Cruis-er!—"

As expected, he attracted much attention by his shouting. People at other tables looked up from their drinks, some laughing, scowling in disgust, rolling his/hers eyes, telling him to "Shut up!" or "Be quiet!"in their own languages; one human even flicked him off, either drunk or just annoyed.

Max himself might have been a little tipsy, but Clara doubted it. He'd only had one drink so far, an Elasken _crit_, which was only twenty percent Elasken liquor, Elasken liquor being weaker than human liquor. He wasn't drunk, or close to it. Yet. This was the way Max acted a lot of the time. He was a "free spirit" human, a type of human found commonly throughout the galaxy nowadays. With enough liquors available to fill ten oceans, it wasn't surprising to find that many Alliance officers were "free spirit citizens," human and alien alike. But Clara had to admit, most of the "free spiriters" were fun to be around and, when they weren't drunk, were actually decent people. And she loved Max as almost a brother, so she could never bring herself to criticize him for any of his wild and crazy antics.

"Hey, fat boy!" came a shout over the loudspeaker, which Clara knew was tied into the Universal Translator. "Sit down and be quiet—"

Max suddenly stopped chanting and turned a full 180 degrees towards the bar, eyes angrily searching for the bartender. "Hey! Who the fuck said that!"

Clara's smile disappeared faster than light traveled.

"Who you callin' 'fat boy!'" He suddenly started charging for the bar.

"Max!" Clara tried to call him back. This was strange. Max very rarely took offense at the mention of his weight.

"Huh? Where are ya, coward! Little sonofa—"

Murmurs started filtering through the shocked crowd. Clara saw the security guards starting forward slowly, ready to pounce if the situations escalated any further.

"I'm right here! Right side of the bar coming out!" came the loudspeaker voice.

Max stopped and looked in that direction. Clara followed his gaze and spotted a tall, wiry Trisalkan step around the counter and out onto an edge of the bar floor. By now, all eyes were focused on the argument. People around Max were standing to try and get him to calm down. He shrugged them off, though, sizing up the bartender, face still frozen in anger. Then suddenly, the anger disappeared in a flash, and was replaced by a look that seemed as though he were mocking the bartender. "Oh, okay, man. Calm down, just tryin' to find ya, that's all. See whatcha look like You're a good lookin' man sir." He turned his big head sideways, batted his eyelashes and then winked at the bartender, as a joke. The whole crowd either laughed, chuckled, and sighed in relief. Clara was one the sighers. "I won't mess with ya," Max added, starting to back up towards his seat. "I'll stop chantin' 'Cruis-er!'...anymore. Sorry." He turned and started back for his table.

The bartender, looking surprised by this sudden turn in behavior, scowled at him. "You better not!" he told the human. Max just raised his hand up in a "thumbs up" as the security guards slowly stepped back to their posts again. The murmuring ensued a bit longer before regular conversations returned, while the soft music kept coming from the speakers.

Clara shook her head at him as he returned. "Max, you're a headcase," she said with a laugh.

He shrugged and straddled his chair again, next to her. "Its not my fault their bartender's a good-lookin' guy, I mean—"

She smiled in humor.

Max broke into his own grin. "Did you see the heinous look on his face when I winked at him?" He repeated the wink to show her. "It looked as if he was expecting me to jump on him or kiss him or something. He looked scared as hell, like I was about to rape him. 'Help me help me, get this fat piece-of-shit, but also very good looking guy, off me!'" He changed subject in the blink of an eye. "Do you think I'd look good in a wig?"

She looked at him like he was stupid. Then, wildly shrugging her shoulders, she answered: "I don't know. A little, maybe."

"Aw, come on, I wouldn't look good in a wig?"

"I don't _know_ Max. _May_be."

"I think I'd look good. Depends what wig though. You think I'd look good in a blonde?"

"I DON'T KNOW MAX!" Clara said with moderate hysteria. She then scanned him once. "Maybe a blonde. I kind of see more of a brunette though. Look like Carmen Ashurst in _Poppy Ponytails_."

Max screwed his face in disgust. "Ew, please no."

Clara laughed delightfully. "'No, Poppy, don't do that. That's wrong for you to do,'" she said in a deep, sweet voice, impersonating the actress Carmen Ashurst as Heather Heartgold.

"Shut up," Max said, trying not to laugh.

"'I _really_ don't think what you're doing is right—'"

"Stop," Max said, playfully shoving her on the shoulder.

Clara re-balanced. "You'd be so funny-looking. It would be like walking one day and looking over and seeing Carmen Ashurst come walking down the hall," she began laughing again.

Max decided to play along this time. His eyes became big and flashy, lips flattening into an elliptical "Oh" shape. Max sat up straight trying to impersonate good posture. He ended up standing up and walking like he was dignified; like Carmen Ashurst.

As he did this, and Clara got another laugh, a Hyrellian announcer walked up to a microphone placed on the stage and tapped it once to get the rooms attention. Behind the man, the stage was set for the evenings entertainment, with three stools, two on both sides of the stage and one in middle by the microphone, and a set of band drums near the back. Word around the Depot was that the Eggheads had been called in, from their _Desperate Soul_ Tour. The Hyrellian stepped up to the microphone and began to speak. All around the bar and dining areas, species from dozens of different worlds, except for any Hyrellians of course, raised their UT boxes to their ears in preparation.

Clara didn't bother to put hers up. She knew he was announcing the band on stage, so she really didn't care. Next to her, Max put his up to his ear.

The Hyrellian spoke in his language, a clear-cut paragraph of syllables and pronunciations alien to Clara, though she decided to listen to the translation coming from Max's UT. "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time our musical guests will begin their performance." Clara grimaced slightly. She hated how all universal translators were so...monotonous. "Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen the _Falsorn_ Eggheads." He started off the stage.

The band came out, the Caldoran lead singer Lorg Bearpolsin first, carrying nothing on him. The other three were humans, whom Clara didn't no much about. She only knew the name of their drummer: Josh. The other two—one short human guitar player, the other another human, tall and muscular who had an electric bass player—she didn't know at all.

The crowd cheered loudly as the popular band made their way on stage and took their respective seats; Lorg to the mike, Josh to his drums, the guitar player to his stool on the left, the bass player to his stool on the right. Before they were even in place, Lorg stepped up to the mike and started talking. "Hello Curansti base," he said in very good Basic. "How are all you guys tonight?"

The crowd cheered again, wildly, like at a huge concert. The sudden sound made Clara jump in her seat.

Lorg grinned delightfully. "Havin' fun? Ya know,—"

The crowd surged with shouts and "woops." Max stood up and shouted "Cruis-er!" Clara grabbed his pant legs and shoved him back down into the chair.

Lorg took a moment to snicker at the reaction and continued. "Ya know, you guys, you Alliance people, did an honorable thing up there a month ago. You-all, I mean...I can't even..." he shook his tan-colored head a moment in amazement, then stepped back from the mike. The crowd slowly began to applaud again. "Great job everybody," Lorg continued. He kept shaking his head, and eventually clapped his hands in applause. "Let's hear it for the Rebel Alliance everybody!"

The applause heightened greatly like the chorus in a song. Clara clapped along with them, Max going crazy next to her but not shouting "Cruis-er!"

"Truly amazing people!" Lorg finished. "All right, well we have a great concert planned for you, especially for you pilots and people. For those of you who've already been to one of our concerts, we're gonna play the same songs, just not in the same order. Just so you're clear on that...oh! And also, we're going to try a new song we just wrote in the last few months, called 'Fucking Bucket-heads.' I think you guys will like it. It's about how much we hate the Empire."

The crowd roared again.

"All right. Here we go. First song Josh the drummer back there wrote. It's called 'Beneath it all.' I'm sure you guys are familiar with it! So here we go! Josh,"—pointing right to the bass player—"Reggie"—pointing left to the guitar player—"Kyle"—pointing to himself—"my name is Lorg and we are the _Falsorn_ Eggheads. Hit it!" Reggie began the song instantly, flicking one of the strings—Clara believe it to be top one from she could see in the dim light—up and down, up and down.

As the guitar layer was added to this, Clara suddenly felt someone approaching her. Turning around in her chair curiously, Clara at first looked at the waist of a wiry man in a plain black shirt, with light blue jeans on, and a plain brown belt with a gold buckle. Looking up, she locked eyes with a man who she hadn't seen at all in nearly four years.

Michael Morano looked down at her with sick, sad, nervous eyes. His lips were pursed, almost sealed shut, as if he was holding in air, waiting for someone to punch him. Attempted a happy smile, he said "Hi."

In a flash—the last time she saw him, piloting the green hovercar towards the block railing; him pleading for a place to stay for "one night!", that simultaneously flashing with the horrible memory of her dear husband Lionel laying dead on the couch, a gigantic hole in his stomach; digging her short nails into the skin of Michael's throat as they hid from Cinnigis the bounty hunter. All those memories—those nightmares—passed through Clara in an instant. All the feelings of hate and anger she had felt came rushing back to her at once, and her happy mood disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Still, she tried to suppress most of it. "Hi," she said, quickly and seriously, not smiling, as she turned back around, focusing on the plastic tabletop.

A long pause ensued between them, the loud music serving as somewhat of a metaphorical barrier.

"How have you been?" Michael asked finally.

"Good," Clara answered dully. She hesitated before adding, "You?"

"I've been pretty good."

. Michael nodded thoughtfully, seeming like her was scared of her, like he was some prisoner brought before Emperor Palpatine. "Did you...fight in the Battle?"

"What do you think?" Clara asked coldly. _If I didn't fly in the battle, then why would I be _here? What was he doing here anyway? She still blamed him for what happened to Lionel. Didn't he know that? If he just hadn't showed up on Sudia...

"I think you probably did," he said with a chuckle that was too big for the joke.

Clara rolled her eyes in disgust at the pathetic attempt. She was steadily growing weary of him standing so near her again after four years. Why'd he _have_ to talk to her? "What do you want?" she practically spat, still not looking but instead trying to focus on the band, and phase him out, not expecting him to have anything good to say.

Michael held up his hands in surrender. "Just wanted to say 'hi.' That's all."

"Haven't you said it already yet?"

Michael's brow furrowed, congruent with his frown. He smacked his lips. "I also wanted to talk to you too, if you could spare a moment of your obviously busy life."

"I'm with somebody right now. Come back later."

"You'll be gone later. The _Harvester_'ll be done in an hour, and you'll be gone."

Clara got up, grabbing her empty glass as she did. She planned to drop the glass of at the bar and then leave as fast as she could, desperately wanting to get away from him now. "Yeah, and hopefully you'll understand, I'm sure. Duty calls for us freedom-fighters. Don't kill anybody _else_ over it." With that she headed for the bar.

Michael glared at her furiously, astounded that she would say something like that. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her upper arm. "Is that supposed to make me feel guilty—?"

She furiously slapped his hand off of her. "—Don't touch me—!"

He let his arm be batted away but continued arguing angrily."—for something? I didn't kill him, remember? Cinnigis did!"

"Yes, and he was hunting _you_," she snarled, speedily walking away towards the bar.

Michael gave chase, not wanting to lose her again. "You think I wanted—?" He barely got a step before Max got up and held him back, latching a fat, rigid hand onto Michael's shoulder.

"Hey. Leave Clara alone. She was enjoyin' herself until _you_ walked up. Leave her alone."

Michael fiercely shrugged him off. "Let me go, I wanna talk to her." With a final glare, he started after her.

Max gave chase to _him_. "Don't you know how to listen? She said she doesn't wanna talk."

"_Shut! Up!"_

Max's face reddened. Anger flooding him, he charged at Michael's back, grabbing hold of his left arm, then reaching around and taking a handful of his shirt. Before Michael could stop him, Max—

"Get offa me!"

—backed him up towards the nearest table, as the music continued to sound loudly in the background. The table's occupants didn't notice Max dragging the other man towards them, all concentrated on the concert with their drinks all empty. "Excuse me!" Max shouted as he forced Michael's body into the table's rim. The customers sitting at the table all jumped and turned their attention to the action happening right in front of them.

"What the hell—!"

"Swe'rer hyt daser—?"

"Griffi das-sin juil—?"

Thighs buckling, Michael was flung flat onto the tabletop, stomach to the ceiling, with's Max's hands on his arms.

"What are you doing?" Michael growled as he furiously squirmed in Max's grip. "LET GO!" He kicked Max's legs as best he could, but he was helpless against the bigger's man presence and strength. When Max had had enough of getting hit in the sides of his knees, he vehemently brought his elbow down onto Michael's left knee, feeling his nerves spark with a temporary pain as a result. Michael yelped in pain and gritted his teeth, stalling his squirming for a couple of moments.

Max used the time wisely. "I can't let you talk to her. Because she said she _didn't want to_."

Michael resumed his squirming, more intense then before. The table was shaking furiously as a result, and its occupants were growing immensely discomforted, to say the least. One had already gone to get either security or the bartender. "It's important to _us_, not to you. Now let me GO!" He tried to lift his upper body, but's Max flattened him again instantly.

"Can't do that!"

Michael's dark look darkened even further. Max swore that Michael wanted to kill him right then and there. "This is none of your business. Stay! Out of it!" He tried again to free himself, now squirming to the point where Max knew he couldn't hold him down for very much longer. But the bigger man ignored the smaller one, searching the bar from corner-to-corner for Clara. He didn't find her, so he finally let Michael up, backing away from the supercharged man. Speaking quickly: "You lead Cinnigis straight to Lionel. How were you expecting her to react? Were you expecting her to _hug_ you?" Max said in a sarcastic sweet voice.

Michael spun on his heels, yelling in rage, "_It's none of your damn business! Stay out of it!_"

Max yelled even more in his own rage. "Man don't you tell me it's none-a-my-damn-business. I _understand_ her, I care abo—!"

"I understand her too!"

"What! No you don't! How could you?"

"We're old friends! I'm sure she's told you that! Now excuse me! I hope I haven't lost her yet thanks to you!" He stormed towards the bar's entrance.

"Really? And where have _you_ been the last four years, huh!"

Michael stopped dead in his tracks.

"Where you been! You been by her side at all these last four years? Answer me, Mr. 'Friend'!"

The other man turned fast again, glaring at Max in coldness. "I've been busy running from the Empire. I didn't contact her because I was afraid the Empire would trace it. I cared about her and I didn't want her to get caught! I already feel bad enough for what happened to Lionel! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I made another mistake like that! If she died because of my mistakes..." He paused to let his words sink in on Max. "So don't you try and make it look like I'm the bad guy. I came to apologize in person for what happened, and I was hoping she'd forgive me too."

Max's iron-clad stare didn't break. If he was affected at all by what Michael had said, he didn't let it show. "I don' think she wants to," he cautioned. "Call it a hunch, but..."

"Like I said before, it's none of your business. What happened on Sudia is between us. Stay out of it." He turned his head around slowly to scan for any sign of Clara. "Thanks to you I probably lost her for good." Starting for the exit, he finished with, "Idiot."

Max's face reddened again, and he was about to start running his mouth again. Until he saw the man from the table coming back with two security guards tailing him. The guards, one human and one large Fedrellon, were extremely muscular and scary-looking. It was then that Max noticed that almost everyone was paying attention to him and Michael, and not to the Eggheads still playing on stage, finishing up their first song. Suddenly becoming aware of the attention, he ignored his urge to revel in it, chagrined over Michael's attempt to talk to Clara. Before the guards could even get near enough to grab him, he shouted, "I'm going!" and barreled past them, speedily walking to the entrance, himself wanting to find Clara as well.


	41. Tale 6: Chapter Two Part 5

9:05 AM; Earth Sol Time; Three months, fourteen days after the Battle of Deil Nine; Earth; Paris, France.

"All rise."

The loud shuffle of hundreds of feet echoed in the chamber, displacing the wall-to-wall sound of gentle conversation between the public guests. Some still mumbling were drowned out by the rising, then were quieted by complete silence. From the right doorway, the Judgement Panel filed into the chamber, single-file, all looking straight ahead at where they were going.

_Oh boy_, Emilie thought from behind the defendant's table as her body went rigid and fear gripped her heart. _I'm dead._ With a heavy sigh, she stood, ready for anything, though she did shudder slightly.

When the thirteen-person Panel reached their chairs, they remained standing in silence, as did the rest of the chamber. A split-second afterwards, the doors in the back opened, and Cemel Sadar, the trial's Nikite judge, walked in, taking his seat at the center of the top row. As his cat-like head stretched at least a foot above the headrest, he signaled everyone to sit down with a nod. "Be seated," came the translation of his voice. Again, another shuffle ensued. Emilie sat rather slowly, and tried her best to look as professional as possible, desperately trying not let her cold hatred of Sadar get control of her. She looked back and exchanged quick glances with her crew sitting in the front row of the VIP seating: bridge commander Lieutenant Commander Vigo Chimad, Ilan, Tilleper, and Maya. Maya gave her a frantic thumbs-up and beamed brightly, her pretty face shooting confidence at Emilie. Tilleper just gave the most positive grin he could, and then winked. Ilan locked eyes with her, pumping his fist once in a silent cheer. Vigo warped his Ghislen face, giving her his "crazy smile" that always made her laugh, including at that moment too. She went down the row a second time, grinning in thanks and friendship at them all for being here with her, even though she knew she was going down. Nothing would change Sadar's mind now. Her eyes then shifted around the room, trying to find anyone else to exchange a quick thanks with. But that's when Sadar started speaking, and Emilie was forced to hear the end of her career. She would have had more hope, had she not disliked any of the Congressmen on the Judgement Panel, who also despised her in return.

"Has the Panel reached their decision?" Sadar asked.

Rigel O'Kelley, the Irish human Congressmen, stood up from his seat at the second-to-last chair on the right. "Yes we have, your honor."

"What is your decision?" he asked passively

Scanning the audience with grim eyes, his gaze quickly passed over Emilie as he spoke. "In the case of _Emilie Rodenski _vs._ The People of the Alliance Military Forces, _the Judgement Panel finds Emilie Rodenski guilty of the charges of violating the Alliance Military Code; Article One; Section One; Paragraph's One and Two by a thirteen-to-zero majority, none dissenting."

A loud, shocked murmur bounced off the walls in response to that. The shock was reflected onto Emilie's own face, as she gaped at the Judgement Panel; gaped at all of them; all of their deathly serious faces, rock hard eyes killing the last of her hope and dignity. _All thirteen of them! How is that "fair"?_

None of the crowd seemed to take sides though. They just murmured surprisingly to each other. Even Emilie's own crew, who she knew still backed her up until the end. They didn't speak out. Emilie wondered why, but came to an answer a second later; there really wasn't much they could do for her.

O'Kelley paused before continuing, letting the Panel's results sink in. "The Judgement Panel also finds Mrs. Rodenski guilty of the charge of treason and insubordination of Alliance principles, policies, and common sense codes by a thirteen-to-zero majority, none dissenting."

The murmur spiked back up again, almost as fast as the _Punisher_'s energy readings had, one of the many images that still remained glued in Emilie's mind. This was ridiculous! They couldn't have _all_ agreed. At least one had to dissent. There had to be some bribe, some catch to voting against her. It had to be! There was no other way they could have _all agreed!_ Angrily, Emilie once again looked back at her crew. Maya, Tilleper and Vigo in utter shock, Ilan in a passionate anger, balling-up his fists in anger and protest. Again, she mentally praised them for their support, then abruptly turned back to the panel to face down her sentence.

O'Kelley turned his gaze up to Sadar, and continued. "The Panel proposes that Mrs. Roden—"

But then Sadar held a hand up, stopping O'Kelley in mid-sentence. Emilie heard a single gasp, as well as several mumbles, and she definitely wondered what was going through the Nikite's feline mind. She briefly recalled that if the trial judge wanted to, he or she could overpower any ruling the Panel made, so long as he/she did so before a sentence was proposed. Somewhat similar to the "speak now or forever hold your peace" clause guests had at weddings. It was the veto power granted to trial judges, but it was rarely ever used by anyone, and Emilie knew, deep down, that that wasn't what Sadar was going to do. He had been her strongest antagonist for the last three months, utterly despising her in the public numerous times. She hated him with a passion that no other being could possibly have. But maybe...? Why else would he stop the sentencing from being proposed? No...no.

O'Kelley, mouth open in mid-sentence, abruptly closed his gaping lips and eyed Sadar in wonderment.

The yellow-furred Nikite lowered his clawed hand and spoke at last. "I beg your pardon, Congressman." His vertical eyes swept over the Panel. "But I now choose to evoke my veto power and overrule the Panel's decision." All at once, sound erupted like lava from a volcano, all throughout the chamber. Several "boo"s blasted their way to Emilie's ears, mixed in with the drum of clapping and minor "woo!"s, many of them coming from her dumbfounded but happy crew. Emilie's ears became veraciously filled with mixes of Tilleper and Ilan's voice, drowning out the minuscule shouting of Vigo, and Maya was nowhere to be heard. But when Emilie looked back again, she saw Maya clapping along with everyone else, a huge grin of hope across her face. Emilie grinned back.

What had changed Sadar's mind? With some of the mean statements he had made about Emilie, she thought that even one-hundred-million years would't have changed Sadar. There had to be some bad reason behind this. What would she have to give him to make him do this? But Sadar wasn't the bribing type, at least nothing Emilie knew of. Her eyes fell on the Judgement Panel, all of whom were turned 180 degrees in their chairs, staring in astoundment and revolt at feline judge, complaining and arguing. _Ha ha you bastards_, Emilie thought. _Serves you right!_

Sadar raised his hand, waiting patiently for the crowd's noise to die down so that he could speak. His face seemed to tighten after several seconds passed and the crowd had barely silenced at all.

Emilie's eagerness had built up over that time, and she wanted, so badly, to yell for everyone to be quiet, feeling as though some of her authority had been returned to her. She had always loved saying that she was an_ Admiral. _"Jesus, you're worse than some Congressmen I know," Bryan had once told her. That had sounded strange coming from him, because he seemed to always love flouting "_Commander_" to all of the underclass officers and civilians he could. He was almost obnoxious about it sometimes.

At long last, the court silenced and let Sadar continue. "My decision has been reached on certain principles that the Panel has seemed to ignore, not only in this courtroom but in the last few months as well. You have let your personal opinions dominate your decision." The Nikite's eyes narrowed vertically into sharp, scary ovals. He cast the look down onto the Panel. "I hope you men and woman are proud of the political scandal you've manufactured, because it's about to come to a crashing halt."

"Admiral Emilie Rodenski has been framed. This—valiant woman has taken insults and accusations over the last three standard months that she is not guilty of! The Alliance Congress has gone far enough in its attempts to appear innocent! I never guessed that it would escalate this low, as to frame an innocent Admiral of an enormous crime. You say she murdered the 216,000 people that died at the Battle of Deil Nine; murdering them by not calling for help and overlooking the 'cautions and warnings' on the status of the _Punisher_ superweapon. How can that be; when it was our job—you, me, and Congress' job—to gather the information Admiral Rodenski used to form her battle plan? How can we blame her for our mistake, when she was simply acting upon information that was misleading, that _Congress_ said was genuine and accurate to previous information? I will answer that question in a moment."

Settling back in his chair, he continued. "I know that Congress' opinion of Admiral Rodenski is not high. In the last few months, we, as a body, have called her "incompetent," "incapable," "brainless," an "idiot," and I, personally, have called her "the worst Admiral I have ever seen." Nevertheless that is no reason to find her guilty of these charges. You have let...your personal opinions interfere with your judgement here today. Now you may accuse me of being a hypocrite. I said I think she's the worst Admiral I have ever seen...and I still think she _is_ the worst Admiral I've ever seen. She is inexperienced, ignorant, and she takes too many unnecessary risks that often put her crew, and the crews of other ships, in danger. Those faults are null, however, when the situation is one that the Admiral has no control over. Such was the situation at the Battle of Deil Nine, and even if the allegations against her weren't artificial, she would still not be responsible for what happened, because the _in_formation she was given is what caused her to react the way she did to the danger."

"Now, getting back to my earlier point. How can we blame her for our mistake? The answer is that we can't." He didn't pause, because he might not get another chance to speak if he even stopped for a split second. "At this time I wish to announce to all present, that these charges against Admiral Rodenski have been fabricated by the Alliance Congress, in a attempt to gain political immunity from the Battle of Deil Nine. I was there the day Congress voted to deceive the public and military officials of the Alliance. Even President Gillia didn't know about it. They chose the Admiral as a scapegoat to prevent themselves from being blamed for the faulty intelligence they unknowingly gave to her."

The crowd's murmuring suddenly came alive again getting louder by the second. Immediately, the Panel, all red in the face, began to scream at the Nikite to "Be quiet!" and/or talk thirteen-on-one in a separate room. Meanwhile, Sadar nodded to his Court Services Officer, who gave him papers with the Alliance Insignia on the top of them, which Sadar accepted, while still ignoring the Panel. He furiously began to write on them. The Panel's complaint got louder, but Sadar continued on, against the odds, his voice rising with every phrase that passed. "And so, by order of this court, I hereby issue an order of _calik marrs_ for Congressman Neelios Benza Piyirk Fogorn, the man who proposed the idea!" The Nikite's eyes blazed alive with fire as his hand moved in a blur across the paper. Nikite's were known for their fast but beautiful handwriting. "He is never to appear in Congress again!" The court erupted again in a frenzy. Many stood up in protest, "boo"ing Sadar, some pumping their fists in angers, others shouting, still others pointing in accusation. The other half of the crowd cheered wildly, starting a chant.

"Sa-dar! Sa-dar! Sa-dar!"

Emilie's brandy-brown eyes grew bigger, becoming hopeful now, not only knowing the truth about what Congress had been up to in the last three months, but also hearing her trial judge refer to her rank of Admiral, something that Supreme Admiral Poff had reluctantly taken from her nearly three months ago, on Congress' orders. She watched Sadar in excitement. An order of _calik marrs _was issued only to politicians. It was immediate impeachment from any office for sixty days, with a hearing after that time had passed.

Sadar's furious writing had finally stopped, and he now addressed the court again. Standing up, with the microphone held in his hands, his booming voice drowned out all others in the room. "Do not argue against me, Congressmen! I do this in the best interest of the Alliance! It may bring in the worst publicity the Alliance has ever faced, but I will sooner kill myself than let this government sink into the hands of political scandal and corruption!"

The angry members of the crowd raised their voices to riot level, while the Judgement Panel continued to scream endlessly at their traitorous Congressman.

"Mrs. Rodenski is free of all charges! I hereby restore her rank of full Alliance Admiral and place her in command of the Alliance Cruiser _Liberty_! She is free to go! This court is adjourned!" With that, he stormed out of the chamber, ignoring all the protests and all the antagonists.

Emilie stood up, breathing hard, overjoyed. In a rush, she turned around and charged straight at her bridge crew, wrapping each individual in a huge bear hug, tears starting to flow from her eyes by the time she reached Vigo.

_I won, I won, I won! Yes, maybe Sadar is still a bastard, but he's a smart one!_

The crowd was beginning to charge the bench, either going after the Panel or trying to go after Sadar where he exited. Whoever they were going after, Emilie didn't care. She had beat the odds again!

In no time at all, the reporters were flocking in her direction, throwing questions at her left and right, but she was too busy hugging people in joy to answer any of their questions except with things like "It's great!" As she hugged Ilan a second time, she saw over his shoulder Bryan Rawling coming forward, filled with energy and drive, beaming brighter than ever before. She could understand why. He had been criticized by Congress severely over the years as being "too radical." Nobody like a rebel. Apparently not even the Rebels. So when Congress got hit hard, she always knew he would be the first one to celebrate, with Emilie right behind him. Not to mention that he had been her strongest supporter, not only with his letter to the Congressional Review Board, but his confidence and his presence as Commander of the Pilot Corps. Breaking free of Ilan, she charged straight into him, and the two twirled in their embrace, laughing jovially. When they finally stopped and actually looked at each other, Emilie could barely contain herself. "I don't believe it!" she blurted in all of her excitement. She tried speaking again, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't form any words because she was laughing, and now crying, so hard.

Bryan just stood still and smiled from ear-to-ear, shouting over the many voices filling the room and the sounds of all the camera shutter's snapping. "Maybe there's hope for Congress yet!" he commented.

Emilie nodded fast in agreement, then pulled him into another hug. "You better not say that out loud again!"

Bryan broke into a laugh. "Oh well! I don't care that much anymore!"

"Good!"

They broke apart.

"So, you're coming back, right?" Bryan asked. "To the military I mean?"

Emilie's eyebrows lifted and her smile descended slightly into her chin; an "are-you-crazy" look. "Yes!" she said intensely, scaring herself.

"Okay, okay! Sorry; you know, after Darnold quit because of that whole Marinza scandal, I just thought..."

Emilie stared at him in serious disbelief.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, you're not gonna quit. Got it! Good, 'cause I have the perfect Commander to take Kano's spot, if it's all right with you?"

By this time, security was starting to gently shoo everyone out of the courtroom. Bodyguards surrounding them, Emilie and Bryan strode out of the chamber, chatting busily, side-by-side, another test passed, another enemy broken.

11:57 PM Sallopian time; Four months, nineteen days after the Battle of Deil Nine; Sallop IV.

Emilie Rodenski clapped her hands, in front of her stomach, in back of her back, in front of her stomach, in back of her back, in front of her stomach...she was like a bored child during gym-class roll call, the one who always was caught zoning out in class. Her mind raced now at the speed of light, faster than the turbolift pod that was taking her to the bridge of her beloved _Liberty_. She felt soothed by the gentle hum of the pod blasting up the lift shaft, letting it carry away the stress of the last few months; doling out all the death certificates, attending so many funerals that it become a part of the daily agenda, not a special goodbye to the man or woman who always lay dead in the transparent casket; dealing with the bastards in Congress who tried to frame her for the Deil Nine disaster. These last four months had been hell, but she had beat it; she had beat hell, and was now getting back to her job again.

The excitement had established a fort inside her heart, and Emilie was forced to sigh to let some of it out before she exploded. _Come on, why it can't it reach the bridge already? I don't remember the shaft being _that_ big._ As if on cue, the pod suddenly stopped, and a sound went off, indicating that the pod had arrived at the bridge.

Charged with energy, Emilie burst out onto the bridge, walking so fast that she nearly ran into the doors before they opened. The small room was alive with activity, people's voices bouncing across the walls and through the air, running through checklists and having casual conversations about who knew what. It was a little more social than Emilie had ever been used to, but she didn't mind it at all today.

"Admiral on the bridge!" called Vigo Chimad, grinning at her brightly as he rose from the center chair; _her_ chair.

At once, all the talking died down and a hush took over the room. All eyes turned to the Admiral, and everyone stiffened up, some going flat as boards. Everyone dropped what they were doing to greet her. Tilleper, standing the farthest away towards the front, stood up tall and proud, waving to her, discreetly, by his waist. Ilan was by the nearest bulkhead panel, leaning against the controls, smiling widely. Right next to him was Maya, who beamed and then rushed to give her old friend and comrade a hug. Though she was still very much on the hook for her betrayal years ago, she and Emilie had become friends again, which was more than could be said for her and Bryan.

Emilie, blushing somewhat, nodded at them. "At ease, guys. It's not like anything's changed. I'm just back for a second term."

The bridge crew chuckled at that remark, and went back about their business.

Seeing Vigo standing behind _her_ chair, with his hands on the top of its leather back, pushing it side-to-side and still grinning, teasing her.

Emilie strutted calmly over to him and her chair, giving him a "very funny" look.

"I was just warming it up for you, ma'am. No need to make the 'snotty-constipated' face." He twisted the chair around so that it opened onto her. "Admiral, your chair." He then backed off and stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back.

The Admiral stopped strutting and walked briskly towards the chair, spinning around at the last second and plopping herself into it. She sat back and sprawled out as far as she could, sinking her back into the chair cushion, feeling the old, familiar relaxation of it flooding her skin, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. Nothing could match the comfort of the center chair of a starship. Letting out a long, satisfied sigh, Emilie allowed her muscles to stretch largely, and she closed her eyes, enjoying every moment of the soothing stretch. "It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back, Emilie." she heard Vigo say. "Hasn't been the same."

A smile slowly made its way across her face. "Hmm. Thanks Vigo."

"Your welcome, Admiral."

Emilie opened her eyes and sat up properly in the chair. Looking Vigo straight in the eye, she asked. "What ETA we looking at?"

Vigo shouted, "Tilleper! ETA 'til departure?"

"Five minutes, twenty seconds!" came the return shout, with energy.

Emilie spun around and faced front, her eyes falling on the lone bridge window. Directly behind that window was a lone chair that belonged to Maya; the navigation station. "Good. Can't wait to get started. How 'bout everybody else?"

"—Yeah!"

"—I'm ready!"

"—You bet _I'm_—!"

"—Bring it on!"

Emilie clapped her hands together in anticipation. "I'm ready. Let's go."

A burst of laughter cascaded around the bridge.

"No, really," Emilie pressed. "I wanna get outta here now. Can we do that?"

"Not without an argument probably," Ilan answered. "And you know how 'pleasant' docking control can be sometimes. They love to yell."

"Come on, it's only five minutes," Maya added. "We can wait, can't we?"

Emilie swung around to her, smile waning. "I don't want to though." She and Maya shared a light "haha." Then, a mental note flashed through her mind, and she pressed her thumb against the comlink button on her left armrest. "Rodenski to Commander Linwood?"

A short pause, then a light, naturally sharp voice. "Hey, Admiral."

"Hey...Maxie was it?"

"That's right, ma'am. Maxie."

"Okay." Eyebrows shooting up, she asked, "You wanna come up to the bridge for the launch? It's always fun."

"Ummmm. Sure, Admiral. I'll be right up, that's sound exciting. Be up in a minute. Linwood out."

Emilie smiled to herself, at the fact that Maxie's voice reflected the same excitement that she was feeling right now. Originally, Maxie _had_ resigned her commission as Colonel, about two-and-a-half weeks after the Battle. But Emilie had found out from Bryan that she had done that simply to wait out her trial. Maxie had let her future rely on the miracle chance(at least, back then it had been a miracle chance)that Emilie was relieved of the charges brought against her. If Emilie had indeed been court-martialed and forced to resign from the Alliance, Maxie would have gone on with her life.

The _Liberty_ had been given to the aspiring Admiral LeeDarte, during Emilie's trial. It had already been repaired and re-launched by the time her ordeal had gotten to court. But Cemel Sadar had issued an judicial order giving command of the _Liberty_ back to Emilie, and giving her permission to change the crew roster. She had only made one change though. With a blessing from the Office of Transfers and Supreme Admiral Poff, she had successfully transferred Admiral LeeDarte's Commander, a Toski female named Pona Cayill, to Poff's new _Bigel_-class Cruiser, the _Sovereign. _

And since Emilie had been freed, Maxie had gladly reactivated her Colonel's commission. Soon after,Maxie was promoted to Commander by Emilie herself and assigned to the _Liberty_. Though she still would have preferred Bryan instead of his adept and somewhat eccentric student, she was impressed by Maxie's reputation, and her attitude towards the War. "I think we're doing the right thing," Maxie had said. "What else can we do?" Emilie had confidence in her from that moment on. She knew the Commander would be just fine.

Moving onto the next thing...(she wanted to _leave_!)

"Admiral Rodenski to docking control." She anxiously rapped her short fingernails on the armrest. _Come on_, _come on, come on!_ "Is everyone on board that needs to be, Tilleper?"

"Control here."

"Requesting permission to–"

"–Yeah–" Tilleper answered softly.

"–launch."

A short pause. "Four minutes, Admiral. Suggest that you fire up your thrusters."

Emilie's eyebrow shot up, forming a "what?" look on her face. "Maya?"

But Maya had already slapped herself on the forehead, and was now bounding towards the navigation console. "Sorryyy. I forgot the engines don't start automatically like they do in _Star Wars._" She tapped two commands into the console. Instantly, a hum started to echo off the walls and floor. The engines were now powering up.

"Two minutes until start-up," Maya read. Smiling embarrassingly, she added, "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem," Emilie answered. "Thank you control."

"Three minutes, Admiral," control chimed in. The channel was then cut.

Emilie sunk into her chair, blowing a puff of air, as she now had to continue waiting. She let her chin fall into the palm of her hand, hunching forward in the chair. What was with all of these delays? If she was an Admiral, why did she have to always wait for someone _else_ to give her orders? It was her ship, why couldn't she decide when it launched? That's because the Military Code said that all ships departing space docks and other launch facilities must run on a schedule depicted by...in other words, ships had to leave whenever docking control said it was okay. But why did they always make the wait so long?

"Emilie?"

Emilie blinked once, and noticed Tilleper staring at her from the operations console. "What?"

The Assalian smiled. "Nothing. Just seeing if you're still there."

She sat up straight in the chair, rubbing her thighs. "I'm here. Just wanna leave already."

"We know, we know," Ilan replied quickly.

Emilie laughed delightfully, probably overdoing it slightly, but she knew Ilan wouldn't pounce on her for laughing too much like some people might.

The lift doors part and admitted Maxie onto the bridge. "Hey, Admiral."

The Admiral waved and said, "Hi." Casting a hand around, she added, "Welcome to the bridge. Nothing special, but she'll do."

"Thanks," Maxie responded.

"Hope you weren't expecting anything...grand."

Maxie shook her head.. "No, not really. Every Cruiser seems to be the same, everywhere I go."

"That's the truth," Ilan commented sarcastically.

Emilie smiled wryly at that joke, and exchanged glances with Maxie. "We're just waiting for now. Nothin' else to do." She returned to her former position in the chair. Then, remembering etiquette, she gestured behind her. "Take a seat." She hoped there were empty chairs behind her. But gradually, the time passed, somewhat quickly it seemed. But all the same to Emilie, the launch code was finally given. The bulkheads rumbled momentarily around her as the magnetic clamps disengaged. She stood and pointed, energetically towards the window. "Let's go, Maya. I wanna get out of here."

Maya, after rolling her eyes, gracefully tapped in the appropriate commands.

The engines blasted to life majestically. Tingles shot up and down Emilie's spine as the force shoved her back and forth. Sitting back in her chair, Emilie grabbed and held the armrests anxiously. The _Liberty_ began to inch forward, as the first two cage bars disappeared from view. With immense power and the grace of a giant bird, the Cruiser carved a straight path across the docking bay—to freedom to roam the stars again.

"Emilie, look," Maya pointed.

Emilie followed the finger, down to the observation deck below the floor of the cage. Hundreds upon hundreds of people had gathered there, with signs and banners all opened and facing up. They couldn't be read from this distance, but Emilie wasn't sure if she wanted to read them. They could be saying anything, bad or good, and Emilie didn't wanna ruin the spirit and excitement that was packing itself in her nerves and heart. However, as she continued to scan the crowd and all the banners, her mind wouldn't get off the topic of what they all might say, and it soon began to dampen her somewhat. What if the public had despised her like Congress did? So, with a frustrated sigh: "Tilleper, are those banners saying good things? Are those supporters or...non-supporters?"

Tilleper tapped commands and then gazed at the picture he got. "'Rodenski rocks!', 'Kick the Empire's ass, Admiral!', 'Admiral Rodenski, marry me!'—" he stopped to laugh. The entire bridge followed suite, highly amused. Emilie allowed herself a sigh of relief on the inside.

"Looks like you're a rock star now," Maya commented with a toothy smile.

Tilleper continued to read the banners. "'Emilie, will you have'—" he stopped again, staring bizarrely. "'—my babies?'"

Emilie burst out into pleasant laughter. "Are you serious? It really says that?"

He turned around and nodded. "Yep."

"Probably mean its too," Ilan said.

The Admiral's face shriveled up. "Eww. God I hope not."

"That's sick," Maya added. "Almost clear of the cage; twenty more seconds."

"That's enough Tilleper. Thanks."

Tilleper cut the visual to his console. "There were a few bad ones but nothing you need to worry about. Asshole citizens, that's all. No lives at all," he chuckled. "I've known a few of 'em."

"The ones standing down there?" Vigo asked.

"No," he snapped. "Just in general."

"Oh."

"Biggest bastards you've ever seen."

"Ten seconds," Maya reported.

The last bars disappeared from the window, and all that replaced it was open space, reflecting the light of a billion stars, with a nebula close by and a sun shining through that. It reminded Emilie of a beautiful picture she'd seen once, in a gallery on Trinity, an Alliance colony near Earth. The portrait had been a hand-painted masterpiece combining two planets, a rainbow-colored nebula, and a silver sun into a truly dazzling piece of art with coloration that Emilie had not seen in a painting before. It had been breathtaking, and she had come back to it several times during her trip.

"We're clear of the docking cage. Engines are functioning fine. Tilleper?"

"Engines are fine from what I can see. Power levels are normal, systems fully functional on my end. Tactical?"

Ilan ran a quick skim-diagnostic on his systems. "All weapons are offline and undamaged; no leaks. Shield energy is stored and uncontaminated; no leaks. Tractor beams are undamaged and functional; no leaks. All my systems are fine. Pilots?"

"All pilots are on board and accounted for," Maxie answered. "Just checked ten minutes ago. Bridge commander?"

Emilie nodded, impressed by her knowledge of the bridge regulations. But look who trained her...

"All stations report ready," Vigo said. "Our orders are in. We need to be at the Hassalin system. Admiral?"

"Let's get moving. Maya, take us...to Hassalin." Sitting back, Emilie pressed back into her cushion comfortably.

The _Liberty _turned elegantly to port, dipping its wings and banking, a boat on the calm sea of outer space. She blasted forward again after the turn, flying away from the docking cage. As the structures became more distant, she picked up speed, gliding parallel to the beautiful nebula-and-sun. Her engines suddenly lit brighter, fires in the night, and the Cruiser flashed into hyperspace. Slowly, space resumed its emptiness, and the light of the stars glowed brightly. Undisturbed, time continued to flow in sync, as it had forever.


	42. Pride Not Found Anywhere Else

5:53 P.M. _Courage _Cruiser

"Life support?" Bryan asked.

Puck tweedled after a moment. CLEAN.

"Sensors—?"

CAN I JUST MAKE THIS EASY BY SAYING THAT ALL SYSTEMS ARE CLEAN AND FUNCTIONING FINE?

Bryan blinked. "If you want, sure. Why, if I may ask?"

BECAUSE I THINK YOU'LL WANT TO GET IN TIME WITH MAXIE BEFORE YOU LEAVE.

"Huh?" Bryan asked immediately, not knowing what he was talking about. He had already said his goodbyes to Maxie in the Lounge back on the _Sovereign_. But then the answer came to him immediately. Casually glancing to the right and down, he saw Maxie charging at a steady run towards the X-Wing. She waved once and shouted, "Bryan!"

Bryan put a lop-sided grin on his face. "Oh, boy. Heeeere we go." He shoved his helmet out of the way. "Puck, keep going. I'll be back in a minute." He vaulted over the side and started down the boarding ladder. Jumping down onto the deck, he started at a brisk walk towards his old friend. "Maxie, you're not supposed to be here."

She stopped and gave him the "what!" look. "You don't wanna say goodbye anymore, or 'it's been a pleasure', or whatever is it you like to say? 'It's been an honor', or it's been—"

"—Okay-okay, M—"

"—glorious to—"

"—axie, I–wait what?" He snickered. "Gloriously? When have I—when have I ever–ever said gloriously before..to anyone?"

She shrugged, starting to laugh. "I don't know, maybe. Come on!"

"Come on what?"

"Don't you have anything to say?"

"No, not anything I haven't said _before_ to you," he said, sounding annoyed by the notion of Maxie's pre-battle ritual, which was to drag him aside somewhere and say her goodbye's to him one-on-one. Nothing mushy or lovy-dovy—no kisses or anything like that. Just one hug and a goodbye. He never really got into the ritual like she did, and that was because his optimism always kicked in; he made himself believe that she was going to come back alive and well. Maxie coming back dead would've certainly killed him inside. It was his worst fear, and not only just for her but for the rest of his pilots. Deil Nine had hit him pretty hard, though he did he best to hide it. Every time a pilot never came back, it was like his heart became a black hole...

The wide smile on her face shrank, and guilt suddenly drove a spike through Bryan's chest. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. Made him feel like an asshole. That had been mean. "Oh. Okay," She said blankly.

"No, Maxie, I—" he scratched the back of his neck shamefully. "I'm sorry, I–I didn't mean to sound like such...an asshole. I—"

She didn't answer, just continued to stare at him with a blank look. She was either angry with him, or hurt, or both. Bryan really couldn't tell. And he was worried either way. He hated when he hurt someone's feelings, accidental or no.

"You know what, let's do your ritual. Come on. Go ahead."

She smiled again, but it wasn't as bright as it had been before.

Which meant to Bryan that he had failed. His heart sank. _Oops_. _Can't redeem that one. Bryan, you idiot. _

Maxie stared him straight in the eyes. "This time's gonna be a bit different okay?"

Bryan stole a glance away from her face, then immediately back. "Umm," he grinned carelessly. "Okay." He waited.

"Because this is big. I want to make sure you get that before I go on. Okay?" Her eyes were twinkling, and her face serious and sincere.

Bryan nodded. "Yeah. Believe me, I understand," he said with confident chuckle. "It's big."

"You mean so much to me. Not just as my Commander, but as a teacher, ummmm...an observer...a father maybe, I—"

He spit out air and then started to laugh. "Your father?" _Her father. Wow..._

Maxie started laughing. "No, wait, I—" he words were swallowed up by her laughter. "Not like that, wait—"

Bryan tilted his head up to the ceiling, his face muscles starting to hurt from all the smiling. "Whoo," he whistled..

"I'm sorry, I'm really bad at this. I didn't—"

"So, Maxie," Bryan said, putting a wild grin onto his face and adapting a fatherly voice. "How was you _first_ day at piloting school?"

"Shut up—!"

"—Did you make any new friends? I'm sure you did."

"Shut up, or—" she stuck her hand into his stomach and started tickling him.

With a quick, distressed cry, he snapped away from the hand instantly. "No! Stop!" he squawked. She chased him, fingers ravenously moving all over his stomach. "Maxie!" He grabbed her hand and pressed his side weight against her arm, holding it, then freeing his right arm to grab her other hand if she tried with the other hand.

But she backed down, still laughing. "Look what you did."

Bryan's jaw dropped. His eyes looked at her like she was crazy and his arms flew outwards. "Wha? What did _I _do?"

"Nothing, I'm just kidding. I'm just really bad at this."

He dropped his hands and just shook his head at her.

"I meant to say something like...really good friend or...oh fuck it. Come here." She threw her arms around his back and pulled him into a tight hug.

Bryan directly hugged her back in the same fierceness. Soon enough, they were both touching heads as well, and rocking back and forth like school kids. He held his old friend as long as he could, feeling comforted by her. It made all the anxiety and stress he had about the upcoming battle go away for at least a while. His worries disappeared, as did he fears; always at this moment in time before every battle. It was why he truly loved her ritual, no matter how common it became and how annoying it sometimes seemed. This was the type of companionship he treasured most in his life, over anything else.

When they finally broke, Maxie's eyes were beginning to water. She understood what Bryan kept locked up: she may never see him again.

_God, if I could only just let that go for at least these sessions..._he thought, wanting to be able to return the care in a visual way that she'd understand. _She knows though. I know she knows. We have that connection._

"Love ya Maxie," he told her.

"Love you too, Bryan. Be careful up there."

_I was gonna say that first_, he thought as he answered with a smirk. "You too. Now get outta here before we both get yelled at."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Bye, Maxie."

She turned and charged back for the hangar teleporter at a sprint. Bryan checked his watch. 5:56 and forty-five seconds. The reciting of the Oath would be along any minute. Wasting no time, Bryan jogged back over to his X-Wing. "You done, Puck?"

The little astromech droid let out an energetic whistle.

"Good. Ya need me for anything? 'Cause I was gonna go get ready for the Oath and I don't feel like climbin' up the ladder again." He snickered, knowing how lazy he sounded.

Puck gave a positive whistle.

Which Bryan took for an "okay." "Cool. Thanks, Puck. I owe ya one later. I'll give ya a new coat of paint later on, how 'bout that?"

Puck tweedled a high-toned agreement.

"All right. See ya in a few minutes." He walked off towards the main entrance , where many pilots were already starting to gather, mingling with each other in their own little groups. But unlike on many other ships, the groups on this ship weren't voluntarily segregated from each other. On many starships, species stuck to their own races; humans with humans, Fedrellons with Fedrellons, Toski with Toski and so on and so forth. However, on the _Courage_, things were different. Bryan saw aliens with humans, interacting fine, no one left out, no one put down. It was the kind of unity that Bryan wanted for all of the Alliance, if possible.

He spotted his closest friend on the ship, Colonel Rinol Yirk, standing over by Second Lieutenant Myler Jav, Flight Cadet Brad Lynch, his roommate Flight Cadet Simma Pares, and Sergeant Diamond Poller. He knew each pretty well, and when Diamond was involved in the conversation, one could be guaranteed that the talk would be very entertaining.

"Good evening everybody," Bryan said as he approached the group.

"—so I told the bitch her ass was uglier than a _farlook_," Brad was saying. "Then she tried to cuss me out, which was so stupid, and then she stormed outta the room like the bitch she is."

Bryan stopped in his tracks, body locked in a frozen position, caught off guard severely. "O_kaaaay_, walked into an awkward moment there. How is everybody today?"

"—we're pretty good—"

"—I'm good—"

"—I'm good—"

"—it's going all right—"

"Good. May I ask what the topic on conversation is? I was surprised when I heard Brad being the...outspoken one instead of Diamond." He smiled over at Diamond, who gave him a sarcastic grin in response.

"We're talkin' about that bitch Diana," Brad said with tons of spite, as he glared behind Diamond's back. Bryan followed his gaze and found him glaring at Diana Hayes as she kissed Paul Darbles...again and again and again over by the cargo crates.

"Oh," he said. Then, turning his head back to Brad. "Hey hey, let's be nice here. We're all friends here in the Alliance. Leave the anger for the Empire. Please."

"But she's such a slut. I mean, look at her, she's got enough dick-juice in her body—"

Bryan closed his eyes and winced in disgust. "—aw—"

"—to populate an entire planet."

"Yeah, but that's—" Bryan started.

Brad gazed expectingly at him. "You _know_ she cheats on Paul whenever she can, right, you know that?"

Bryan held up a patient hand. Brad was clearly jealous. "Yes, Brad, I know, but that's her business. If she wants to do that, she can do that if that the way she chooses to live. Just like you choose to live a certain way, so does she."

"How can you say that about her though, Commander? You saying being a slut is a good way to make a living?"

"Make a living?" Bryan shot back. "How is she making a living? She's already paid a wage for flying, so why would the men pay her to sleep with them?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. She was very sexy, even he had to admit. "Especially Paul. You know he already wastes enough money—"he lowered his voice"—on his condom fund? Ya think he has enough money to pay wh—people to sleep with him? Shit."

The entire group made a resounding "ahhhhhhhhh" to indite Bryan for his misuse of his last phrase.

"Caught you!" Bryan heard Cadet Pares shout at him. "Caught you!"

"Ya see?" Brad accused. "You even think she's a whore!"

Bryan's eyes widened in urgency. Rinol assisted him in telling Brad to be quieter. "We don't need you pissing her off _now_." He paused momentarily before continuing. "And I don't think she's a whore. She's a nice girl with a lot of good priorities who likes to have a little fun. There's nothing wrong with that."

Brad laughed at that analysis. "'Who likes to have a little fun?'" he repeated, shaking his head slowly in disagreement. "If you say so."

Bryan shrugged. "What's wrong wi—?"

Suddenly, the hangar klaxons sounded, signaling all the pilots to line up where they were taught to line up before the Oath was cited.

The pilots murmurs increased in sound they dispersed and went to their positions. Bryan heard bits and pieces of statements like "Why do we do this everytime" and "This is ridiculous", and even better: "The Oath is _so_ stupid" circulating amongst his pilots, and he felt hurt by the whole thing. Bryan respected the Oath greatly as the one thing that should unite the Alliance and all its people. The Oath was a part of the Military Code, and every military person was sworn into the Alliance by memorizing and then reciting the Oath. And Bryan felt as though he had been betrayed, and that he'd failed, because these were _his_ pilots that were denouncing the Oath. But he couldn't be angry their opinions, and he would respect them, even though he didn't want to. Not enough people respected other people's opinions in the modern times, but Bryan would not be one of them. He respected everyone's opinions.

"Men would pay her to have sex with her. Hello?" Rinol said as he fell into stride with him. "Have you looked at her lately? She's got a nice body, flat stomach..."

"Yeah, R—"

"Nice boobs, long legs—"

Bryan stopped. "Okay, Rinol. I get–I get the picture. Thanks." He smirked. "They prolly would," he said, glancing over at Diana. "Would you?"

"They already do. And I might, if I was desperate enough."

"And if _she_ was desperate enough. Ya know she doesn't like aliens much?"

"Oh yes, I know. She can burn in hell for that. But what's that human catch phrase or whatever you call it. Sticks and scones or something like that. Stic—"

"—Sticks and stones—"

"—and—stones, yes. That's it. Old proverb or something. Sticks and stones."

"Yes," Bryan answered. _Stick and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me._

"Sticks and stones to her. I'll beat her skull in."

Bryan laughed slightly. "Yeah, good luck with that."

He grinned. "She'll be dead before she has all her babies, though. All the Fedrellon babies, all the human babies, all the—"

The human eyed him cautiously. "Don't you start, Rinol."

The Pollasir laughed.

"I'm serious. Don't start." He paused, again staring over at his two most horny pilots. "Diana Hayes and Paul Darbles are perfect for each other, if not in the most perverted way."

Rinol laughed again.

"What now?"

"Only _you_ would put 'perverted' and 'perfect' in the same sentence."

Bryan smiled widely. "Yes, that would be me."

The two men took their positions side-by-side, at the right end of the long line of people that spanned across the width of the hangar. Standing with them was the bridge crew and security guards, as well. Bryan was at the end of it, with Rinol to his left. He saw that Captain Bassas was already down where he needed to be. At that moment, the klaxon stopped sounding, which meant that the ceremony was about to begin. The line knew their duty, and hushed very quickly. Bryan couldn't help but smile. _Good boys_ _and girls_.

Captain Bassas marched down the line, nearly eight feet away from them. Body stiff, eyes staring straight ahead, and feet rising and falling like a soldiers. He stopped at the center of the line, then did an about-face towards them. After pausing a moment, he cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"What is the Alliance?"

The answer by the line, in unison:

"We are.

We are the people who are the Alliance.

There are no individuals,

No rulers,

No kings."

Bassas: "Why does the Alliance exist?"

Line: "To defend,

To protect,

To give hope,

To give liberty,

To end tyranny,

To restore peace."

Bassas: "Who does the Alliance defend?"

Bryan stood taller, eyes reflecting the determination that he was considered famous for. Line: "The people,

The hopeless,

The optimistic,

The virtuous,

The shamed—"

--

_Dalaman_ Cruiser

"—The living,

And the honor

Of the dead."

Kenny stared straight ahead, his eyes lost in the distance, staring at Danielle, who he knew was somewhere amongst those stars outside the hangar, watching him with a smile as he recited the Oath.

_Liberty _Cruiser

Emilie shouted her words; crisp, with feeling and purpose: "From whom does the Alliance defend the people from?"

Line: "The Galactic Empire.

It's Emperor: Emperor Palpatine,

Darth Vader,—"

Glory and a warm feeling she had never felt before gripped Maya as she spoke the Oath.

"—The soldiers of the Empire,

The proud,

The ambitious,

The greedy,

The corrupt."

_Defender _Cruiser

Captain Lockhurt: "How does the Alliance defend the people?"

Evan nervously tapped his fingers behind his back. He had always bs'd the Oath because he was too lazy to learn it on his own. But the words he did remember were always said with the same intensity and passion as the rest of the people in the line.

"With honor,

"With purpose,—"

_Hindra _Cruiser

"—With duty,

With honesty,—"

Kevin's thoughts dwelled completely on his brother, who was probably fumbling over the Oath's words right now. Worry crowded Kevin's emotions, and though he said the Oath with the same feeling as the other people, the scary thought of losing his twin brother haunted him.

_Liberty _Cruiser

"—Decency,

Morality,

And heart.—"

For the first time ever, Maxie felt proud to recite the Oath. Never(never!)had she ever liked saying the Oath. Always had been one of the complainers. But now...she wanted to jump out of her skin, she was so excited!

_Harvester _Cruiser

"—To forgive

The accused

And sooth

Those in pain.—"

Clara locked her eyes on Captain Fer–Geneden's strange Sallopian form. But still, out of the corner of her right eye, Michael's tall, slim shape with his shock of red hair stood out like a sore thumb to her. Why couldn't she block him out? He was starting to distract her. Of all the ships that he could launched his assault forces from, why this one(Michael was a General in the Alliance now, specializing in ground assault. He was part of General Mitza's numerous ground attack forces)?

Michael stole another glance at Clara. He wanted to talk to her so badly. But he had waited too long. The battle was about to begin, after the Oath and then after The Glory Song. He would have done anything to make his wounds and her wounds heal right now if he could. But he couldn't. Not now. Too late. So he tried not think about her and listen to the Oath. And failed...again.

_Vaysil_ Cruiser

"—In memory

Of loved ones

And those

That have died

In battle."

_Sam..._Justin thought as he recited those words. He had never really been fond of the Oath, and now it hurt even more to say it. But he found himself respecting it, now more than ever, as this was the first time he had said the Oath since the Battle of Deil Nine. It had new meaning for him now. _The Empire's going down today_._ I can feel it. And we're doin' it for every one of you that's died before us_, he thought, eyes flicking up to the heavens. _Ya hear that, babe? This one's for you. All for you. And for our children. Just as it's always been. _

"And when will the Alliance's job be done?"

"When the Empire is destroyed,

When its tyranny is dead,

When its corruption ends,

And peace is achieved!"


	43. The End

This the end twaahahahahahahahahahahahah! This is the endiiiing, the endiiing, the endiing of this-part-of-the-story...hahahahhaa who woulda guess it would end like this huh...wohoooooooo! Its over for now! Its over for now! Can ya believe it? Come on now, yu know yu enjoyed it, right? Come on! Bryan Rawling says yu did! So that means yu did. Hahahahahhaha. I didnt know yall would last this long. Don't worry, there's still more coming I promise. This aint endin here and now. Not at all, nononononononononononono. Nononononononononononon!. If it was then it woulden here and n...


End file.
